Shine
by star
Summary: Modern. Erik is reclusive genius working at a university research center in Louisiana; Christine is a naive and independent intern. Chemistry ensues. EC.
1. Chapter 1

Rated M for language and possible shmexiness later.

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><p>"No, I don't want to do that. I don't want to do that, and I'm just…. Hrmm." Grunt.<p>

She fiddled with greasy, limp at the top and dry at the bottom, red-copper hair and breathed through her stuffed up nose in bursts. It almost sounded like Jingle Bells.

"Shitcrackers."

"No, I don't want to do that either… Oh my god. What is wrong with me? I just keep talking…" She leaned in closer to the mirror and gave herself a crazy smile. _Yes, that is you. That is what you are now._

_Holy crap, Christine, shut up, you're so morbid, what the hell…_

She took a step back and forced herself to look down. Dirty sink. Well, clean on one side, _her_ side, but her dumb roommate had crap all over the other side. Dirty bathroom floor. _Uck._

It was lonely there. It was lonely and blank and she didn't really like it, and she found herself desperately searching through any online TV show she could find for free and watching it, alternately lying on her bed and sitting up, back and forth, as the vinyl mattress cover crinkled and grew sticky and the sheet she'd sewed together for a sleeping bag crumpled down by her feet.

This stupid internship job was pointless, and all she wanted to do was go home, go back to school, something. But she was here, somehow at a school capable of paying sixty poor undergrads' salary and room and board. _I mean, what the hell._ It was a frequent thought. She was being paid five hundred bucks a week to work for four hours a day. And in a recession.

It wasn't like she didn't need it. It was just that she wasn't needed, and she needed to be needed. And her apartment was a blank white little room with two other roommates she never saw, and on the empty walls and in the empty rooms her pathetic loneliness and complete powerlessness over it made her feel crazy when something on Futurama cracked her up and she laughed too loud and too long. And she talked to herself because there was no reason not to.

And she thought, _is this real life? Is this a life away from your family? Is this what will happen to me when I graduate?_

It wasn't like she hadn't tried. She'd joined a running club, but they were all in their thirties and she hadn't turned twenty until a week ago. And she'd tried to hang out with her roommates, multiple times, but while they always said things like "anytime you need anything, just let me know", and "yeah, I'll have to take you there, we could get a bunch of people together, it'd be great…" they never followed through, even when she did need something and did let them know. _Um, alright. Bitches._

Finally, a well timed racial comment—_can those be well timed? _Really, a wealth of racial comments, from one roommate and her friends, made Christine give up for good on that effort. She only wished she had swallowed her naïve shock and said something about _fat bitch stupid ugly face's_ remarks before leaping out of the car after that grocery trip.

_Damn, I must have some anger issues. _

…_And now one less person available to help me buy fruit. Shit._

After spending a considerable couple of days venting over the phone to her dad in equal anger and shock, she bought a bike. Problem somewhat solved. But lesson learned.

A. People are still assholes. The things you think don't matter still do, and what can _you_ do? You can say the things you want, and you can spend lots of time thinking about things that would've been better to say, but anyone already that self-superior isn't going to be changing anytime soon.

B. You are alone. You are very alone here.

The two crap roommates had boyfriends, and luckily the racist one seemed to be living with hers, because she was seen maybe once a week. When Christine had gone to racist girl's boyfriend's apartment, she'd seen racist girl's food in his fridge. _Pathetic. I'll never be that dependent._

…_I'll never be that dependent._

And the other would talk to anyone who would listen, on and on, and Christine wasn't sure whether to pity her or intensely dislike her for her selfishness and her unavailability whenever Christine ran out of, say, food, or toilet paper. There was a week spent using Starbucks napkins.

It was a tiny branch of Louisiana State University in Lafayette, Louisiana, and it was only May and already hot. Christine was used to rainy Oregon summers and this was not that. The heat rose off the pavement and prickled against her shaved legs as she went from lab to lab. She frequently wondered what people did before air conditioning. She also wondered why people here loved the AC so damn much, because inside it was freaking _cold_. Anyway, the point was, the lab she was stuck working in wasn't within walking distance of any source of toilet paper, and she didn't have a car.

Christine stepped into her room, absently patting the top of her head. She sighed and hummed a bit of an unknown song, stood frowning for a moment, then went back into the bathroom. Every time the light in the bathroom turned on, the fan went on with it, growling up in the ceiling.

"Shut up."

She picked up her forgotten coffee. Swig. Peered at her hair again. _The power of the almighty bobby! Grease hidden!_

_You just called your pins bobby. _

_Yes, we're on a first name basis. _

_I'm going crazy. Hahahahaha._

Christine stepped out of the bathroom, happily shut off the loud light/fan combo, finished her coffee, grabbed her backpack, made sure her safety goggles were inside, stepped back into the bathroom to brush her teeth, grabbed her backpack again, and finally left her apartment.

She hummed along, an occasional skip in her step, and this was the paradox that was Christine Daae, the thing that she could never understand and therefore believed no one else could. And she knew she'd never be loved, despite how she longed for it, because she was terrified of it, and despite her sadness and frustration she walked happily to work, and she didn't know why.

XXXXX

Dr. Kelly ran the bioengineering lab Christine worked in, and he terrified her. All the more so because she didn't know why, especially when he tried so hard to act like they'd known each other longer than the two weeks she'd been there.

The lab was in a big brick building identical to the four other brick, Spanish-style buildings spread over the small research campus. Four rows of countertops crouched in the middle of the room where Christine worked, shelves rising above them crowded with boxes of pipette tips, glass bottles, pH meters, deionized water, various science-y things. Every day Christine cleared a six inch spot on the black formica counter and left her notebook there. A place of her own. The first week she spent a lot of time migrating from one aisle to another, scanning the crowded shelves for a brown chemical bottle that looked just like ten other chemical bottles. The grad students in the lab avoided giving her the time of day. She returned to her silent apartment after minimal work each day and felt low and crushed and useless.

And when she put her sample in the fridge instead of the oven, Dr. Kelly looked shocked upon hearing she didn't know any better and said, "You don't know what the oven is? You know. The big box thing. …Smaller than the fridge, of course, but not cold?" And the grad student next to him laughed.

Christine knew he was just joking, knew the grad students in the lab had some sort of adulation for him, for their "Kelly", but from that moment on she was scared of him. She couldn't talk to him without her face turning red. Which made her dislike him more, as well as herself.

When she told her dad about what Kelly had said, he simultaneously laughed derisively and sighed and said, "Oh, he's too familiar." And she supposed that was true. None of this was familiar to her. This was her first summer away from home, first time in the lower half of the country, first real science job, and it was not how she expected it to be. She constantly felt her lack of knowledge being thrown in her face, from the way the grad students would stare at her and patronize her when she didn't know how to use a machine, to the way their voices grew curt whenever she asked a question. _Great fucking Scott, if you didn't want me here, why did you select me to come here then?_

At least she finally understood her project at this point and had no need to intrude on the other students' godly forms of thought. She was just repeating a procedure already detailed in a published paper and adjusting it somewhat. Initially surprised at the lack of original research she was going to be allowed to do, now Christine didn't know whether to be relieved or insulted by it. She could never show up if she wanted and no one would care, and she'd still get paid. How pointless! What a waste! But she had nothing better to do, so what the hell.

Her assignment was to coat a nanoparticle in silver through a series of chemical reactions and then show that it could successfully kill bacteria. The reaction took several days to finish, and then she had to check if it worked with the giant electron microscope in another building. She could easily envision the next four months of her summer stretching out in a constant loop: react, visualize, repeat.

All the more reason to hop on that bike and pedal her heart out, until every undiscovered corner of Louisiana was seen and she could at least say she'd learned _something_, and therefore wasn't as incapable of thought as everyone else in the lab seemed to think she was.

"Christine."

"Ye-esss?" Through the shelf above the counters she looked at Dr. Kelly. He had his typical khaki shorts on, a big man who still looked somewhat childish. Short hair, expression always a little perturbed, but in a funny way, as though he was overreacting to someone's unusual joke. He often went out with other students in the lab on Thursday nights and got drunk. Christine thought it was weird. She kind of wanted to come with.

"I've been thinking—" His voice jerked off and he asked, "How is that trial going?"

Startled, the uncontrollable blush seeped up. Feeling it and seeing the way he registered it and tried not to acknowledge it made it worse.

"Um—It's, ugh, it's good, I'm just adding more silver nitrate to this fraction now so—because the other one wasn't fully coated? So I thought it needed more? I'm not really sure—"

"Why are you doing that?"

_Didn't I just tell you?_ Blush worsening. She looked at the test tube for something else to look at. Hard breath. "The other sample, when I imaged it, had some silver on it but it wasn't completely covered. So I thought it—increasing the amount of silllll-ver would increase the coverage."

Kelly nodded decisively. "What I was going to tell you earlier, and I think it would help with that issue too, is that if you use the DLS in Middleton, you could tell the amount of silver coating the particles without using the microscope every time. So you can just head over there today and run those."

Nodding like she knew what was going on, Christine said, "Yeah, okay great, that'd be really helpful. Okay. Thanks."

And Dr. Kelly turned and left, and Christine didn't want to question what was apparently so well known, but she sucked in her stomach with a brave breath and at least asked where Middleton was.

Building two blocks from this one. Can't miss it. Go straight.

Sheepishly, "Thank you." And she held her head high until she was out the door.

XXXXX

_Oh beautiful blast of air conditioning, to what do I owe the honor? _Ahh. Heat pricked skin relaxing.

She stood in front of the building directory and for a moment vainly pursed her lips in a _faux_ natural pout, studying her reflection in the glass framed list.

_You will _never _have that._

Why do people say I'm pretty? She thought. This wasn't a vain thought, unlike her expression. Christine factually thought she was pretty, too. But there was something wrong with her, she knew, in some way that she had yet to figure out how to change, which kept people from attaching to her, which kept her distant-pretty, uncaring-pretty—never striking. Blending in, so that she wasn't actually attractive at all. So why did people say it? Were they all lying? _Don't be ridiculous._

DLS ….. RM 514

She slipped into the elevator and felt the initial pull of gravity on her intestines at the box moved upwards, then the lift in them as the elevator slowed down.

This hallway was not like the entrance hall to Middleton. The entrance had been bright, window filled, skylights above the center display case. This hallway stretched long and dark across the building, only one door visible towards the end on the right, and only because the hollow it created was darker than its surroundings. The fluorescent lights flickered yellow and gold dimly. The air smelled of old books.

Her sandals tapped as she headed towards that far door, sound waves bouncing off the walls as she walked between them, and she pictured their reverberating moldy shape, like old men struggling through the gloom to protest at any disturbance. But she defied them and continued on.

RM 514.

She turned the handle and pushed the heavy door open.

Inside, it was similarly dark and dank, and dust motes swirled hazily in the veiled light coming from an upper window. The room was large, with the black countertops that seemed to be the research center's trademark in rows through the middle. Those in front of her were fairly clean, but the further left she looked, the counters became messier, papers and vials and books and boxes and different types of machines piled on their tops. To her upper right, a balcony looked over the dusty scene, dim and probably equally dirty, but it was impossible to tell in the dark.

It was kind of beautiful in a way, how everything seemed to be abandoned and left carelessly to gather dust. Christine moved toward the window in the middle of the room and slowly parted the hazy curtain to look out. Fields and oaks shimmered beneath her in the heat, the red roofs of two other buildings visible in the distance. She stood there for awhile. She knew it was vain, but she wondered what she looked like right then, at that moment; if it was like a scene from a movie, her back turned to the camera and just her eyelashes visible in the scattered sunlight. She closed her eyes.

"Can I _help_ you?"

Christine jumped and dropped the curtain and gasped and the triangle of light she was letting in swung shut. She looked around, up at the balcony, into the far corners, but she saw nothing.

"Are you deaf? Is there something I can do for you?" Arrogant. Annoyed. _And oh, so odd, so…_

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><p>Please review!<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

**CH 2**

"I—" She swallowed. "Yes, I—Dr. Kelly sent me over to have you run DLS on some samples for me?" She hoped he couldn't tell that she didn't even know what DLS was or if she had used it with the right verb.

"Put them on the table."

"_Which_ table?"

"It doesn't matter. Just put them down."

Christine moved to do so and then stopped. _Everyone here thinks I should know what's going on! Goddammit, is it so wrong to have no effing idea?_ She turned around towards the balcony. She knew he was up there, and she didn't care that he was apparently too busy to even look at her. It kept her blush away, in fact.

"But you haven't even seen them! I don't even know if I brought you the right amount, and I'm sorry, but it's kind of messy in here, and what if they get lost? I mean, should I put them by something recognizable? And how will you know how to contact me with the results? And when will I _get_ those results?" She stood with her hands on her hips; two little vials clasped in a progressively sweatier fist, and unseeingly scanned the darkness beyond the balcony.

"Cher." A shadow shifted above her. "If it'll make you feel better, you can set them by the damndest outstanding object you find. But I have a feeling I didn't become a professor to be intimidated by a little mess. You already told me you work with Dr. Kelly. Your amounts are fine.

"Now _go_."

Christine stood for a moment, shocked before the anger set in, and whirled and put the samples on the counter behind her as her anger increased, and comebacks began to spring up in her head, but _take the high road, don't give him the satisfaction, don't sink to his level…_

And she was in the elevator and wished and _wished_ she had sunk right down to his level, and vowed to do so as soon as she got those results.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Christine went on runs, long straight lines, along the edges of fields and took deep breaths now and then to let the moisture in. She went at sunset for obvious reasons—it was cooler then; but she also went at sunset to let the dim light wash over her skin, the pastels and gold in swirls over the fields, the dark green of the grass, occasionally trespassing in order to pass through a sprinkler. _Oh you beautiful world._

Times like this, her loneliness was born of immaculate conception; people around her merely went on, and she felt so cozy and happy with her own life and thoughts that no sadness crept in. She let the sweat slick down her stomach and her face burn with heat and droplets of moisture tickle down her shins. It was gross.

She got back to the apartment block, sat down on the curb and untied her shoes. Sigh of relief. Crickets and frogs chirped and then came the slowly building roar of the cicadas. She sat back and looked around, wiggling her toes. Down the parking lot a few people got out of a car with a case of beer and she could hear their voices fading as they walked away.

"Ada, don't talk about reeee-sonnnnns you don't wannatalkabout reasons you don't wanna talk…" Christine sang lightly to herself as she stood, stretched, headed inside.

Jab. She poked the power button on her phone and _two missed calls_ flashed up.

"Hi Christine," very professional and yet friendly sounding. "This is Megan, from Dr. Kelly's lab. We're having a get together at his house tonight and were wondering if you'd like to join. I think you'd really enjoy it, it's a good way to get to know people in the lab and so on, and it'd be no problem for someone to come get you. Just give me a call back when you can."

The second was from a number Christine didn't know. She stood for a moment, dripping in the air conditioning, unsure. Awkwardness or loneliness? _I'll have to rush through a shower, and it's already almost nine thirty, and I could just eat ice cream and watch the Office or something… _

_But you should really try. You've got four more months here. _

_Four? Fuck!_

_It could be okay…_

She thought of the people with the beer case and hit call.

"Hey Megan, its Christine. Hi! Yeah, sorry I took so long, is there any chance you could—or someone else, too—maybe come get me still? I'd really like to go. Sorry! Oh awesome thank you! Oh thanks so much. Yeah, I'm in room 617—it's building six. Okay cool. Well I'll see you soon."

"Ah!" she gave a little stressed exclamation and yanked off her sweaty clothes and hopped into the shower.

Twenty minutes later, Christine was ringing her hair out with a towel when her phone rang. _Ooh shit. I've done it now. But at least I'm trying!_ It was the unknown number from before. "Hello?"

"Hello. Christine?"

"This is her." Standing in her room with the towel hanging from one hand, rocking on one foot, trying to place the voice. And also thinking about where her shoes were and how she should stop being so nervous.

"I'm your ride."

"Ummmm… Okay. Who is this?"

"I'm here to get you for Dr. Kelly's get together. In the black car by the streetlamp."

And nothing. Christine literally looked down at the phone in perturbation. _What the fuck?_ _Oh God what have I done, this is gonna be awful, these damn Louisiana people are so weird…_ I got dressed after a shower for this.

Sighing and squaring her shoulders, she took her time hanging up her towel, grabbing her purse and slipping on her shoes.

The black car was outside under the streetlamp, very shiny and clean and classy looking. Maybe an Audi? She didn't know. Something nice. She came towards it and hesitated. What if this was some weird coincidence, a black car here? What if she just got in and there was some random in there? How embarrassing would that be. Or what if they took off and killed her? _OH boy. _She stood by the passenger window uncertainly and the driver's door opened.

"Remember that one time you got _into_ the car instead of gawking at it?"

Hurriedly, Christine wrenched the door open. "Oh _excuse me_, remember that thing where humans don't have x-ray vision and can't tell if someone's in a car when it's tinted to hell? My bad," she finished drily and thudded onto the leather seat.

Inside the car was dark. She looked over at the driver and saw his dark profile. He sat very erect and didn't look at her, his outline bony and sharp in the dim and occasional spots of orange lamps. There seemed to be something on the side of his face she couldn't see; when they passed under the lights she could see the outline of his nose and then a ridge above it, a line stretching along his face, like his profile was out of focus and he had two.

"Thank you for picking me up. I'm Christine, by the way." It was curt.

And it was met with silence.

"I'm sorry, what's your name? I don't think we've met, actually."

"Christine." A pause and a sigh of breath. His voice was very flat; not expressionless, but yet still; as if he had chosen to make it so. It was rich and deep and also part of it sounded patronizing, pedantic almost. "Erik."

"Nice to meet you, Erik," Christine said politely. "Are you also working in Dr. Kelly's lab…" trailing off thoughtfully, because in the dark he was such an entity that maybe he wasn't there, maybe he was in the air around her, maybe he was everywhere.

"…No… You work with the DLS, don't you?"

He was the presence in the balcony. And now he was the presence in the driver's seat, and maybe it was him that made the car black; she felt as though he could somehow drape over the vehicle; the power moving them along the empty road was his and his alone.

She refused to be similarly choked into camouflage but wasn't quite sure how to prove her independence without acting like she cared—_the worst proof of influence is caring._

She gazed at him expectantly because some instinct told her this would be most unnerving.

He stiffened and shifted in his seat. "Yes.

"You're the girl that came into my office like you owned the place without so much as a knock."

"Without knocking?" Christine snorted derisively. "If I had to knock on all the doors here, I might as well just stand outside all day-"

"Intimidated by big buildings?" Erik sneered.

Christine laughed drily. She put on a fake frightened voice. "Oooh, yes, terrified!

"I apologize for disrupting your—I'm sure _incomprehensible_ for the likes of me—thoughts. God forbid you do the shit you're getting paid for unless you feel like it." She breathed out slowly and leant against the seat. She was faintly aware of the rustle of Erik shifting his weight. She stared out the window for the rest of the ride.

Dr. Kelly's house was in an older neighborhood, nice, well-maintained but not obsequious homes. When they parked she could see paper lanterns over the wooden fence and faintly hear laughter and a guitar being played. Erik's car engine hummed silent and she could feel the plastic of the door handle, was pushing it open when suddenly she was pushing nothing and saw a pair of legs outside.

She stood and didn't even know how he'd gotten over there so fast and looked up at him and he was tall, wiry like a runner, and her gaze was traveling up the black collar of his shirt and up and his neck muscles tightened, maybe like a twitch, and there was stubble on his chin and then there was a jump in her vision and all she saw were his eyes.

Her mouth was slightly open and his yellow eyes were in hers, considering and also guarded; she didn't understand what they were.

And then her vision zoomed out again and she saw that half of his face had a tan mask on it. It did not blend in like it was supposed to. Half of his face from the forehead to above the mouth was covered and her eyes slid around and away and back to his but his gaze now was shaming. Vision darted away and then regained its courage and gazed back up at Erik steadily.

He had shaggy black hair and his mouth was compressed in a very thin line. "I'm sorry," he said tightly.

"Yes," Christine said. "I accept your apology?" She swallowed hard. _That was wrong_. "I am too." She was now looking at his throat, his pointy Adams apple. "Thanks for driving me." She stepped to the side, around him, eyes on the corner of his shoulder and also over his shoulder and he seemed to reluctantly back up and she booked it to the gate in the fence and went in.

She was aware of his slow pace behind her, his hand catching the weighted gate as it swung back toward him, his eyes on her for a moment longer until he turned a different direction and went away and she was left alone with people she didn't know and the one person she didn't like she suddenly felt she knew best.

"Christine!" Dr. Kelly clapped a hand on her shoulder. He had cargo shorts and a Hawaiian shirt on for the occasion. "Good to see you here. There's barbeque by the stove inside, and we've got a big bowl of jambalaya too—Have you tried that yet?"

"No—no, I'm not really sure what it is, what is it?" Christine shrugged apologetically.

"Just try it," Kelly smiled jovially and smacked her shoulder again. She noticed the brown bottle in one hand. "Oh! James!" And he wandered off, just like that, leaving Christine slightly off kilter in the middle of the backyard.

People seemed to be gathered in the far corners; grouped at a picnic table in the back near a giant oak tree seemed to be the drunker ones, as it was loudest there. There was a small fire opposite the lawn from them, and that was where the guitar was emanating from. Christine looked around for Megan but didn't find her. She bit her lip and gathered her confidence and squared herself towards the house, attempting to move in a decisive fashion towards it. She smiled awkwardly at people as she went. _What was I _thinking_._

Inside, there were a couple chicken legs drying out in a pan on the counter, and Christine bypassed those. A big bowl of a rice-ish looking mixture with sausage in it was sitting nearby and she put a spoonful on a plate. No one seemed to be inside, although slow violin was coming from some far region of the house. Maybe upstairs. She resisted the urge to hide and eat inside.

The group at the fire seemed least exclusive and raucous, so that was where she fake-confidently went. They looked up at her entry, a couple smiles, a couple "Hey"s, a couple nods. She shook a couple hands. "You forgot the bread," one guy said, nodding towards her rice. He was sitting by the guitar kid, white shirt orange-ish in the firelight, obviously a local due to his long jeans in ninety degree weather. He had a friendly, handsome face, and Christine kind of smiled.

"My bread?"

"You put the jambalaya on the bread, yeah? It's better that way. Hey, you must be the girl who's from—is it Oregon?"

"Wait, what? Why would I put rice on bread? And um, yeah I am from Oregon, but… rice on bread?"

He laughed. "Raoul," extending a hand. Gratefully, Christine shook it. "It probably is pretty weird, and pretty starchy, but trust me. It's just how it works. Have you ever had jambalaya before?"

"No," Christine laughed. "I really want to try everything here. It's pretty different. I guess I'll have to go get some bread."

"I'll come with you; Kelly's horrible at getting things for people."

"He is! I got here and he was all, 'hello, welcome' and then he took off and I was like, 'what the hell is jambalaya and where is your kitchen?' and it was… awkward."

Raoul laughed again. "Yeah, that sounds like him."

There was an awkward pause, then, "So did Megan get a hold of you?"

"Yeah, yeah, thankfully. Um… Does Kelly tend to have these things pretty often?"

"Eh, sometimes. It pretty much varies with how busy everyone in the lab is," Raoul held the screen door open for Christine and she slipped inside. "Right now everyone's just doing their own thing so he's been having them about every Friday. It's a good chance for people to get to know each other outside work."

"Oh, so what're—what is your project?"

"I'm working on constructing—Is there no more bread?" Raoul peered around in the kitchen, opening the cupboards above the stove and sink. Christine looked around also, despite not really giving a damn. "Oh well," Raoul sighed, then "Boom! Done. Found it," he held out a loaf of white to Christine. As she fiddled with the tie, he continued. "I'm working on making a scaffold for possible skin cells to regenerate on, but it's not going real well. Not going well at all." He laughed.

Christine made a face. "That sucks. It sounds really awesome though, good luck with that! Kelly told me most research seems to go that way…" Raoul nodded. "Dude, what do I do with the bread?"

"Right! Okay. Spoon the jambalaya on top of the slice, like that, and now kind of make a dip in the bread, to hold it in, and eat."

She took a bite. "Mmm?" It was just spicy rice on bread. She didn't see why this dish was so famous but refrained from saying so. The violin upstairs still continued faintly, and Christine wished she could hear it better. It faded out and she was still putting effort into her and Raoul's conversation when footsteps came down the stairs.

"Christine! I'm so glad you came!" Tall with long blonde hair, Megan strode the last couple steps and gave Christine a big hug. Alcohol-y smelling. Her chin pointed uncomfortably into Christine's shoulder briefly and then, "Raoul!" Stride to Raoul, who wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her cheek.

"Hey Mega-poo," Megan snorted and made a face.

"Ew. No."

Raoul wrapped an arm around her and said, "I'm teaching this foreigner here how to eat jambalaya."

Christine tried to ignore the little gulf in her stomach as her loneliness resurfaced. She swallowed. _Damn. He was just being nice to me._

"So Erik got you here in one piece?" Megan asked.

"Yuuup, yeah," Christine found herself studying Megan's face. There was a concern there that was sober and only faded slightly with her reply; Megan bit her lip and leaned against Raoul's shoulder and Christine saw their eyes meet.

Raoul murmured quietly, "How's he doing?"

Megan sighed and pressed her eyes into Raoul's shoulder briefly. "He's Erik." Her voice suggested frustration. "He's up with his violin."

Christine knew this wasn't for her ears but against her will she blurted, "That's him with the violin?" Mouth snapped shut in a grimace. "I mean—he's very talented. Sorry."

Megan smiled. _She's tired_. "No, no, honey. He is." To Raoul, "I think I'm gonna head out soon. Can you still drive me?"

"Yep! Christine, do you need a ride back? I'm sure Erik wouldn't mind driving you still, and he'll probably be leaving soon too, or whenever you need to."

_He will mind. He'll mind_. But she was curious now, and _it'll be that that does you in, but… Who cares?_ "I'll be fine. I think I'm gonna… Meet some people outside for a bit."

The party continued on for a while, and two beers later, Christine found herself getting a bit buzzed—_I should've eaten more rice._ She was settling in nicely, perched on a lawn chair by the fire and being informed about Mardi gras by two of the new grad students in the lab, similarly intoxicated, and becoming more and more proud of herself and her resolve to get out tonight—_Maybe I won't be the hermit in the lab now_—when she saw both men look up and felt a presence behind her. She looked over her shoulder.

_Sarcastic 'yesss?' or chirpy politeness? What do _you _want? Well… Both. _

_He's in the dark. Can I call him shadowman? I probably should. No. He's taller than me. How old is he? Isn't he a professor? I should ask. No!_

"Heyyyy…!" She stood. "You headin' out?" Turned unsteadily to her new friends. "Nice to meet you guys! I'll see you Monday!" She stepped towards Erik.

There he was, in the shadows, and it annoyed her, but in a way she didn't really feel, just thought about. Shadows curled from beneath the overhanging oak tree branches, stretching across the yard's width. His hands were in his pockets and he stood with shoulders stiff and hunched. She couldn't see his face but suspected it was disapproving. He didn't say anything to her as she walked toward him.

Then, "You've had too much to drink."

Christine's face turned up to him sharply. "Ohhh-kayyyyy," sarcastically. "Thanks for letting me know." _Fuck you!_

He said nothing, which pissed her off more, and she followed him towards his car. Internally grumbling. _I felt kinda sorry for you but you're just a pompous turd. Shit. Forty more minutes of this crud crud crud crappy crud—_

"Christine! So glad you showed up tonight. Have a good one!" Dr. Kelly warmly shook her hand. She smiled and blinked up, blushing/startled, _goddammit_.

"Yes! Thank you for having me. It was fun."

He smiled and nodded. "See you Monday," walking away. Christine nodded sycophantically.

Inside Erik's car was quiet and her seatbelt buckling was disruptive. Ten minutes passed and Christine was just getting comfortable.

"Did you…" Erik's shift on the seat and swallow, "have a good time tonight?"

Surprised, Christine replied, "Yes, it was nice to get to talk to everyone. Did you?"

"Yes," softly.

The drive passed in silence and Christine felt herself growing sleepy. When they arrived at her apartment, she stiffly gathered her bag and pushed open the door. "Thanks for driving me," hoarsely.

She dimly saw Erik nod and swallow. The door closed and his car smoothly pulled away. Emotionless.

*The song Christine sings earlier is "Ada" by The National. And I'm sorry this took so long!


	3. Chapter 3

**CH 3**

"Your house smells like curry."

"Ahh, what would I do without your charming outlook, my friend. Take off your shoes."

Erik ducked his tall frame into a musty entryway with stained yellow tiles on the ground and grumbled as he toed off his shoes. The wallpaper throughout the house was peeling and the air—though battling valiantly with the curry—smelled of mold and water and disuse.

"Are you sure my car'll be okay outside?" Erik gave a doubtful look at the driveway from the living room. "Seriously, man, you take things too far."

"Your car will be fine. Please, shut up."

Erik looked up at his friend and sighed wearily. Nadir was his freshman roommate, a mere six years ago, on exchange from Saudi Arabia. Now a grad student in sociology, he had moved into one of the poorer neighborhoods in Louisiana to research through immersion.

"Just be careful, okay? Half these guys are packin'. You know I know it's true."

"You're really cute right now, you know that? This concerned thing has my heart all a-flutter." Nadir padded into the tiny kitchen, Erik behind him. He wore a ragged t-shirt with "STOP RAPE" across it and torn jeans, and was handsome, a quality Erik could only deal with because Nadir was blissfully unaware of it.

"I got some Heinekens for me and some of that PBR shit for you, you damn hipster."

"Thanks," Erik grinned. "The curry really does smell pretty good." They heaped up plates and headed back out to the living room, settled down on the saggy couch in front of Nadir's tiny TV. "To bro night." A crack and hiss of Erik's can of PBR opening and a large burp emitted from Nadir. Both settled back on the couch to watch the Louisiana State-Texas game.

"So how're things with Nala?" Erik asked at a commercial, struggling to sit up against the man-eating sofa.

"Good, man. She's a cool girl."

Chewing. The back of Erik's usual black shirt was becoming spotted with yellow fuzz from the saggy couch and he leaned his head back on its top. Stared at the ceiling. It was wood paneled and had the potential to be nice, if the water stains from years of Louisiana downpours and subsequent leakages could be removed. A McDonald's commercial annoyed from the TV.

"Have you met anybody?" Erik felt Nadir looking at him from the corner of his eye. "Don't get all pissy."

"Nadir…" warningly. "We've had this conversation before and I would rather skip having it again."

"Dude, fuck you. You might've scared me before but it's not gonna work for you now. Have you?"

"Goddammit Nadir, you really think that'll ever happen? Just let it go!"

Nadir took a slow deep breath in and let it out, nostrils flaring. He continued to eat.

Erik sat stiffly on the couch as Nadir continued to watch the game. He stared over the top of the TV and ground his teeth. One hand went up to his face, tenderly, touching the masked side, which was facing away from Nadir, prodding its fabric. The veins in his hands pumped, under control. His hand came away and fell to his lap. _You will never have that._ He picked up his fork slowly and stared at his plate.

Nadir chewed and swallowed as though nothing had happened and Erik reached for his beer.

The next commercial, Nadir patted him on the shoulder. "I will prove you wrong someday, my friend. And you're gonna owe me."

Erik shook his head. "Whatever, _friend_."

They switched to video games soon after that.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Saturdays were bike days. The bike Christine bought on Craig's List left much to be desired, especially in the braking department—every time she braked the wheels squealed an alarm across the land—but it got her from point A to point B.

Saturdays she went down to the local farmer's market, filled her backpack with peaches and strawberries and grapes, biked back to the apartment to put her groceries in the fridge, and then mapquested Lafayette to find new routes. This Saturday, however, she woke up at one p.m. with an hour until the market closed. _Double damn with crap on top._ She didn't get to put on sunscreen and her old fashioned floppy hat and sundress like she usually did. She got to fly out the door with a stubborn resolve to buy fruit.

When she got back it was already four p.m., and so there went the all day bike exploration possibility. _It gets dark here so damn early… Could I even reach that park in time? Probably not. I could try it? I don't know how safe that is…_ Famous last words.

She shoved a yogurt and some toast down her throat, hurriedly pulling her hair into a ponytail and making sure she had her pepper spray, bike light, phone, those things. _This is happening. I refuse to stay here. _The slam of the apartment door, her springy plop onto the bike seat, propelling herself out of the parking lot by swinging her legs instead of using the pedals. _Here we go._

There was nothing Christine loved more than the whir of her wheels down the slope of a paved road, hair in glorious ribbons behind her, happiness glowing through her body. _I am an orb on a secondhand bike._ The cicadas applauded her arrival and everything was so green, so lush, the roads empty, twilit, beautiful.

_I miss my dad. I'll call tonight._

She passed under oak trees, with their limbs twisted and long and thick. Reaching across the road, upwards, strong. She passed by fields of wet green grass and breathed in the smell, the sprinklers ticking out time. She stood up on her bike pedals and let herself fly.

_Someone _will _love me someday. _But not for long, her head always instantly replied. Maybe they will find you beautiful, but that means nothing.

_Why are you so weak? Why do you need to be loved?_

_I don't! I don't! _

_Ugh just shut up._

She twisted and turned along winding roads, her surroundings quiet and solitary but for the occasional passing of a car. She judged it to have been about an hour and half since she left, since she was getting hungry again, but really the music of the air and the animals and the whir of her wheels blurred together and time was nothing—a wasted, unnecessary thing. It made her loneliness in Louisiana nonexistent, because who can be lonely with no time alone?

Christine coasted up a hill until the last bit and then stood and pedaled, taking a sharp right onto the gravel of Lakewood drive. A hundred yards down, signs indicated a bird sanctuary and there was a clearing in the oaks. Christine rode her bike into the middle and stopped. She set it on the ground and stood and stretched, took a deep breath.

It was now dusk and there were no birds to be seen, but Christine still inhaled deeply, enjoying the beauty, the feeling of strength from accomplishing her goal. Then her eyes opened. "Oh, shit."

_It's dusk!_ I have seventeen miles to go before I sleep.

"Oh shit oh shit oh shit," Christine took in a steadying breath as she hopped back on her bike, buckled her helmet, flicked on her bike light. "Oh shit." She gulped down the rise of terror. "You can do this. It's okay. You'll get home fine. You're in the country. Worst comes to worst, you can call someone to pick you up. Ohhh shit. Shit! It gets dark so early here!" _I'm used to darkness at ten in the summer… You can do this._

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Erik! Stop killing me, you bastard! _I'm on your team!_"

Erik gave a positively evil chuckle. "Maybe you shouldn't've hassled me so much earlier, huh?"

"Do you have to work tomorrow? We should get drunk and watch crappy TV."

Erik yawned. "As tempting as that sounds, I think I'm gonna be an adult and grade some papers. Sorry."

Nadir took a swig of beer. "Boring."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Christine was breathing hard and peddling fast, praying to God the light remained long enough for her to read street signs.

Once the sun set, the world's light went out like a slow blink and Christine was left to her own devices. There were no street lamps and she judged herself to be about five miles from town. It wouldn't take long to get there, but it was the getting there that concerned her. Directional sense usually sprouted from her surroundings and now she couldn't see those. _Fuck._

She must've taken a wrong turn somewhere, because although houses were becoming closer to the road and each other, they were dilapidated, and there were still no streetlights to be found. She judged herself to be slightly too far east and figured she could fix that easily enough. Big sigh. _I am definitely in the wrong part of town, though… Sheesh. This is sketchy._

She had taken a left and was heading up the cracked pavement, pedaling fast because of a flip-floppy feeling in her stomach that was slowly building in warning. She tried desperately to ignore it. _You're being paranoid. Stop. Stop now. Just pedal. You'll be fine._

Not normally a religious person, Christine breathed, "God, be with me."

There were voices behind her. The steadily building volume of a car coming up. _Just act normal. Everything's fine._ The car passed her by and honked and she heard male voices yell.

She was suddenly very aware of her surroundings. Dingy duplexes and apartments closely spaced, the cracks in the pavement, the dry long weeds sprouting by stop signs and seeming to take the majority of lawns. Every house looked faded in her bike light. They did not reach out to her like homes, but crouched in their faded colors like buildings that had absolutely no desire to welcome or protect.

Christine was scared.

Up ahead, the car's tires screeched and it swung a u-turn and came roaring back towards her. Christine hopped her bike up onto the sidewalk and pedaled hard. Male voices called raucously out to her again and she was aware of the car slowing as it came toward her. The driver laid on the horn.

"Hey, tight-ass, what're you doing around here?"

"You wanna get in here? You're gonna get all tired on that bike!"

The car had no choice but to continue past her and there was quiet again and Christine tried to take a deep breath and pedaled hard. _Maybe they're gone._ Another deep breath. She began to plan what she would do if they came back and tried to contain her dread.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I'm gonna head out soon, man," Erik said, tossing back the last of his beer.

"Yeah, yeah," Nadir was focused on the screen. "Help me beat this level and then you can."

"You're pathetic," Erik grinned and dodged Nadir's kick as he grabbed the controller again.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

In the distance, there was the squeal of tires and _vroom_ of a car accelerating. It grew louder. _They were back._ Christine just knew, knew this time, that she was in trouble. _Well,_ she thought, still biking valiantly along the cracked sidewalk, dry weeds whipping and scratching her ankles, _you should've known this would happen. What were you _thinking_?_

The car grew louder, honking. Christine stared straight ahead. With a couple yells from the guys, it passed her. In disbelief, Christine looked up in time to hear the screech as it pulled into a driveway fifty yards down from her and stopped.

In a million thoughts at once, she realized she was going too fast to jump through the weeds and over the curb to the road without crashing, which would make things much worse, for obvious reasons. She had to try and stop before she hit their car, pull her bike to the street, and get on again. Her pepper spray was slimy with sweat inside her bra but she could grab it. Or she could find a place to hide until they got bored.

Her sweaty hands clamped down on the brakes, the wheels screeching and protesting and alerting everyone in the car that she was stopping. She saw them get out. There were four of them. Loose clothes, slightly inebriated, loud, and approaching.

She lifted her bike over the curb and got on and pedaled wide, to the other side of the street, and it was then she realized how hot she was, sweaty hair stuck in streams to her neck, face red. One was coming closer to her side of the street. They were laughing.

"Hey hottie, we want to talk to you!"

"Yeah!" Guffaws. "Don't be a bitch. Talk to us!"

The one in the street was a bulky shape in the darkness and she tried to swerve around him but she knew then that he would do something, that there was no helping it, and—

"Hey." She saw his foot kick out toward her, felt the bike skitter, the handlebars wrench away from her grasp without her knowledge how, and tucked her head and skidded and rolled as she hit the ground, sliding on her elbows and then turning over and over, a spinning vision of pavement and dark sky.

It stopped and Christine leapt to her feet and various parts of her body felt raw and wet and hot and sore; her helmet crooked on her head with its strap choking her throat. She reached down her shirt and grabbed the pepper spray and flicked off the safety. The one in the road was close now but paused as she pointed it at him. She was aware of the others, clumped together, on the sidewalk by the car, approaching.

"Tell your friends," Christine said slowly, the shake in her voice low and gruff, "to leave. Now. This is bear spray and I don't want to fucking blind you."

"Well look at this!" one of the ones in the clump said. "Ian, what the fuck?"

"She's got bear spray, man."

The speaker was getting closer. "Fucking _take_ it, pussy."

Across the street, a door opened. Christine saw it and screamed. She pushed down the pepper spray trigger and let it loose like it really was capable of protecting her from a bear and the man in front of her screamed and turned away, bent over, rubbing his eyes.

The others were approaching and she turned towards them and pointed the pepper spray like a gun. There was no noise in her head. She knew she was almost out—the bottle was old and not meant for use on four people. Down the street a car started. Christine screamed desperately again. They started toward her, spreading out. One leapt forwards and she leapt back and sprayed him, but felt her arm grabbed and a thumb dig into one of the many scrapes on her elbow. She gasped and wiggled her arm and disregarded, for a moment, those in front of her, and—

"Stop."

The one in front of her looked up, one hand still reaching towards her. It dropped down to his side. Her elbow throbbed so strongly that she didn't realize it was no longer being held until she attempted to turn slightly to look at the speaker, body still warily facing the man in front of her. The two she had sprayed were standing guardedly at a distance, hands at their streaming eyes swollen into slits.

Christine saw her attacker first, his eyes wide, hands at his throat. His fingernails were digging at something there. His breaths were rattling laboriously in his chest and he was leaning back as far as he could without falling. He looked wildly from Christine to—

Erik.

Breathing hard, Christine looked desperately at him. He grabbed the man's shirt collar and hauled back and punched him. The man toppled like a skyscraper and Erik stuffed something in his pocket. Christine turned back towards the other one and he was steadily backing up, hands entreating. "I'll go. I'm going. I'm going."

Then her upper arm was gripped tightly again and Christine winced and Erik spun her around and began to frog march her across the street. She limped along in stunned silence. They went up the steps to a brown house. Christine noticed the stairs' carpet was torn and soggy. Erik pounded on the door.

A muscular, dark-skinned man with thick black hair and a videogame controller in one hand opened the door. "Well, hello aga—Erik, what in the hell?"

He pulled her inside. The man stepped to the side and gazed at Christine in shock. She looked at him blankly. Erik pulled her towards a couch and sat her down.

She hissed as her jeans detached from a sore on her hip. It began to bleed anew and she leaned against the couch and stared at the ceiling in embarrassment, in shock, disbelief, relief, humiliation, a million things. Erik stood in front of her and the other man was still standing at the other end of the couch. Strangely enough, her main thought was _he probably thinks I'm some prostitute that got roughed up on the job and Erik had to come save me._

She wasn't really sure what to do.

"Christine." Erik slowly crouched and his upper body came into view. "This is my friend Nadir." She looked to her left and Nadir smiled and waved slightly. Christine nodded.

"Erik…" with a sigh, Nadir strode toward her and sat down beside her on the edge of the couch. "Let me do this. Go get a bowl of hot water, some washrags, and my first aid stuff. In the bathroom?" Erik smoothly and silently left.

"Alright Christine, do you wanna tell what happened? Or I can get you some tea, or maybe some brandy, too, if you feel like that?"

"Um," Christine shifted slightly. She felt sore and raw and numb. The thought of her empty apartment seemed like a welcome relief, as did the idea of secretly nursing her shock and humiliation and fear. She slowly removed her helmet.

"Honestly? I'm really fine, and I really appreciate the help, but—" _your pride is making an ass of you._ "I really just want to go home. I'm really fine." Nadir's eyebrows were raised and she found herself explaining more. "I know that was a bad situation, and I am so, so thankful to you guys and Erik and everything, but I think I've been enough of a burden, and I should just go home. I really want to just go home. Please. I'm sorry."

Erik reappeared with a bowl of steaming water and paused in front of her.

"Are you sure?" Nadir was asking.

"Yes. Please. It would really be best." Uncertain why, she looked pleadingly up at Erik. "I'm so sorry."

Erik bit his cheek and glanced at Nadir and then turned and put the bowl on the coffee table beside him. "Alright."

"Do you know where she lives?" Nadir stood and stepped towards the door. Erik began but Christine interrupted.

"Oh no, I'm almost home right now, I can bike. It's fine. I don't want to be any more trouble." _Stop being ridiculous._ Her ribs gave another painful twinge.

"Don't be ridiculous," Erik said curtly. To Nadir: "Yes, I know where she lives." To Christine: "I can fit your bike in my trunk. It's no trouble."

His short tone indicated otherwise and Nadir looked from one to the other, uncertainly. "Alright… Well give me a call, will you?"

Christine stood up stiffly and tried to contain the grunt of air that escaped her lungs in pain. Shorts and a t-shirt and a roll on the pavement were the worst possible combination. With difficulty she moved towards the door and then felt Erik's arm around her waist, him pulling her closer to his side, pulling her arm around his shoulder so that she put her weight on him.

She missed the sharp glance Erik shot Nadir and the way Nadir's hand dropped in the midst of attempting to help her.

They got out to the car and Erik opened the passenger door and helped her down on the seat. She heard murmured words between him and Nadir and then he sat down and shut the door and they backed out of the driveway.

"I'm not sure your bike will still be there."

"Can you check?"

He turned and went down the same street and she shuddered. "There it is," she pointed ahead. Erik stopped the car and got out and disappeared for a moment and she found she was gripping the seat tightly, knuckles white, until the trunk door slammed and he sat back down. They accelerated down the street and out of the neighborhood and then Christine's toes finally uncurled.

The car ride was silent. They passed the grocery store Christine usually frequented after a time and she began to think about the vegetable showers, and how she loved them when she was a kid. Then she began to think about how badly she probably needed a shower and then her hip twinged again when the fabric shifted over it and she thought about the pink color her shower water would likely turn and she looked down and realized that whole side of her jeans was dark. She looked closer. It was dark with blood.

Alarmed, she looked away, down her thigh, and that, too, was scraped and bloody and her arms were raw and bloody and her knees softly dripping blood down her shins and her chin was even scraped and _what if I hadn't wore my helmet_ and _what if my pepper spray had ran out or I forgot it_ and as much as she hated to admit it, _what if Erik hadn't shown up… what if they done what they wanted to… what if…_ The shower water in her head turned crimson.

She was shaking and shaking, so much shaking, and rocking back and forth and everything was hitting her at once now, fear rising up and choking. From a distance, she heard, "Christine? Christine?"

They arrived at her apartment and her shaking hand reached for the door handle but she couldn't get it. "Christine." She looked at Erik, eyes wide. "Are your roommates around right now? Can they help you?"

She closed her eyes and shook her head in quiet desperation. "Ahhh-hhhhh," attempted to control a hyperventilating breath and breathed in and out slowly, staring straight ahead. The car started backing up. She turned in alarm to Erik.

"We're going to go to my place for a bit. Is that all right? You need someone to look at those cuts and I don't think it's going to be you."

Christine sighed and nodded. She leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes. She was aware of the car slowing to a stop after a period of time, or Erik helping her out, of the rise of an elevator. He unlocked his door and helped her inside and she was still shaking, now more with cold; separation from his warm side was freezing as he helped her down onto the couch.

He left for a moment and returned with a large blanket. Christine was sitting as curled in a ball as her injured limbs would allow, the one less-injured knee pulled up to her chest. Erik knelt down and tucked the blanket around her. His eyes caught hers for a moment and they were soft and she took in a deep breath.

He stood. "I'm gonna make you some tea."

Erik returned from filling the kettle with water and stood in the entryway to his living room for a moment. Christine remained stiff on his couch, uncomfortable and awkward looking, with one leg tucked up and the other outstretched in pain, eyes squeezed shut. Her copper hair fanned behind her over the dark red corduroy and her face was pale and set. Erik had a vague blank spot in his mind that was unfamiliar.

He fetched a bowl of hot water, antiseptic ointment, rags and bandages, and returned to find her in the same position. The teakettle began to whistle and he set everything down and went back into the kitchen.

Christine opened her eyes when he came back in and stuck a little T-Rex arm out for the mug. It was boiling hot and she blew on it for a moment before taking a careful sip.

"Holy fuck! Is this more tequila than tea?"

Erik looked up, eyebrows raised. "Good to hear your voice," drily. "Drink it, please. I need to clean your cuts and you're getting blood all over my blanket."

Christine's lip curled before she took another gulp of tea. "Ugh," she coughed.

"Leg, please."

She stuck one out slowly and took a deep breath. Fire burned down her throat and in the pit of her stomach but otherwise it felt as though she'd been hit by a truck. Her mind had shut down on fear once more; allowing small bursts in at a time—the typical way she dealt with things. She took a deep breath.

Erik swallowed and pulled the coffee table forward until he could balance her foot on it. He sat down on its edge and untied her Converse and pulled off her sock. The rag dipped into the hot water and the droplets pinged back into the bowl as he wrung it out and then he began to dab at her knee. "These are pretty deep, but I don't think you'll need stitches."

"Mmm. Good."

"I'm assuming they can be attributed to those assholes?"

Christine took a deep breath. "One of them kicked at my bike and… It was pretty much game over. These are all from that, actually." She took a big gulp of tea and let it burn the back of her throat and make her eyes water. Erik continued in silence and she realized she was too exhausted to give a damn about how uncomfortable she felt.

The tequila sunk in, flowing along her tired limbs and making her stomach feel like a black pit, heavy, sinking into the couch.

She finished the tea and set it down and stretched both legs out with a sigh. Erik looked up at her. "Better?"

"Mmmm."

"God, I forgot what a lightweight you were," he mumbled. Her eyes jerked up to him but missed his smirk.

Christine leaned her head back down on the back of the couch and watched the lights above her create little rainbows of color that slid across her vision. She lifted one arm and let it flop on top of her eyes, fingers tangling in her hair.

"You have a very matter-of-fact way of talking. It's like you know the answer to everything and therefore, questioning it is just everyone else's stupidity."

Erik looked up. "Okay…?"

"Well," Christine shrugged, eyes still covered, "it's annoying. Just saying. It makes me want to disagree with you because you seem to always think it's impossible."

"Umm…" Erik looked around the room. "What brought this on? I'm sorry I just saved your ass tonight and now am literally wiping up your blood; I'll try not to do it again. Believe me, it wasn't in the plans."

Christine opened her eyes and peered at him from under her arm. "Meh meh meh, I'm Erik, I'm so great." In a fake, deep man voice.

Erik looked up. Both stared at each other for a moment, Christine challenging, Erik considering. Finally he looked back down at her knee and began to dab it again. "That's not how I sound," matter-of-factly.

"Yes. It is. You just did it!"

"Christine, how much have you had to eat today? That was _not_ that much tequila."

"Maybe I always act like this."

"I'm trying to give you the benefit of the doubt."

Christine smiled wryly and lifted her head to see Erik smiling to himself as he scrubbed her knee. "Appreciated."

"What _were _you doing tonight? I'm curious."

She groaned and leaned her head back on the couch. "God, can we just… Fine. I like to buy fruit on Saturdays, okay? It's the one thing I like here." _Oops._ "But I woke up late so I got fruit late so I had to go on my bike ride late, and… It took longer than I thought it would. And I got lost."

"Hell yeah you did, you were about seven or eight miles from your place there. How far out did you _go_?"

"Only about fifteen miles. And I only took one wrong turn, I wasn't really _lost_, I knew how to get back the whole time…" _Although I did think I was only five miles away._

"Please. You told us you were 'almost home'. You had no idea where you were."

"Fuck you." Christine bit her lip and felt him stop sponging for a moment. "I mean, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, thank you thank you, I will be forever indebted, good sir, et cetera."

"Where did this _come _from? You're a real ton of fun, has anyone told you that? You ruined a perfectly fine evening and now I'm letting you bleed on my shit."

"I'm sorry I ruined date night with your _boyfriend_."

Erik gave a sigh of exasperation. "Really? You're gonna go there? Nadir's not my _boyfriend,_ you ignorant dummy."

"Ugh." Christine struggled up against the cushions and Erik watched the muscles in her legs flex. Swallow. "You just called me an ignorant dummy. Who's smart now, professor," she opened her eyes to see him watching her, a small smile curling his mouth.

"You're a pain in the ass."

"Well, you—I'm sorry. I really am right now." Christine leaned forward to take the box of bandages from the table and began peeling them apart, the alcohol shifting in her stomach and her chest suddenly heavy. She felt guilty and awful. _Why are you doing this? He doesn't deserve this, you—why?_ "I just—I can do this myself. I can. I'm sorry. I don't… like people doing these things for me."

Erik wrung the rag out in the bowl and continued to dab her other knee.

Christine watched him uncomfortably. "I just would rather do it myself. No offense, and I really appreciate it, I really do, I'm touched, honestly, but… I'm sorry. You know."

There was silence for a moment as Erik continued. After a while, he said, "I suppose I'm not sadistic enough to watch you struggle over this when I know there must be a wicked cut on your hip that's only going to hurt more at the expense of your pride. Sorry about that."

Christine sighed and leaned back. "Thank you," in a small voice.

"You're welcome."

"How old are you? I mean—oh God, I should just stay inside my head right now. Just 'cause you're already a professor and everything…Sorry…"

"I'm twenty-five," Erik looked up. "I finished school fast."

"Jeez!" Christine sat up again. "And you're already a professor? In _what?_ Are you, like, a genius? Holy crap," she leaned back.

"In the bioengineering department."

"Wow… That's pretty cool."

Erik kind of nodded to himself, trying to ignore the way Christine's voice had become thoughtful, the small bird that had taken flight in his ribcage at her change in tone, the way her warm calve felt in his hand as he cleaned her cuts.

He finished cleaning her legs half an hour later and helped her stand. "Now you're gonna go down to the bathroom and wash out those other cuts, okay? How're you feeling?"

"Fine, _dad_."

"What a relief." Erik looped her arm around his shoulders and helped her limp down the hall. Once in the bathroom, he dropped off the medical supplies and left her with a loose t-shirt and pair of his running shorts.

For the first time, Christine began to take stock of her surroundings. It was a big bathroom. There was a Jacuzzi and a shower, and two sinks, with a mirror spanning their length. Rich, dark blue towels were folded in a basket and everything was furnished in silver. _Not a normal apartment bathroom. Is this a penthouse? Man, he must be loaded, being a professor._

Christine slowly peeled off her jeans shorts and held them up mournfully. There was no way they'd ever reach their former glory. Then she looked down at her left hip. The skin was shredded like it had been hit with a cheese grater and Christine looked away, grossed out. She cleaned and bandaged her scrapes as best she could and then slipped into the clothes Erik left her. The shorts almost reached her ankles and the shirt covered her butt. _I am a multicolored ghost. _They were soft.

She stopped and looked in the mirror. The hairs around her face had curled in her sweat and the humidity and her face had that residual, sweaty look, mixed with exhaustion. Christine splashed some water on her skin.

She plopped back down on the couch and pulled the blanket over her aching body. She'd have to leave soon, and she knew it, and she was dreading it. Her vinyl mattress and sheet sleeping bag could not seem more uninviting or lonely. No one would be awake and she would just fall into bed and wake up and eat raisin bran and debate what to spend her time doing for the rest of the weekend. She could just see it.

At the same time, this was too needy. Christine wanted to have left a long time ago or right now.

Erik returned to see her sitting stiffly on the edge of the couch, legs stretched out awkwardly to avoid bending them. "You probably want to go home soon?"

"Mmm. Mmm-hmm, whenever you're ready."

Erik held out his keys and she nodded and he came over and looped her arm in his and helped her up. They made it to the door when she stopped suddenly.

"Um. Erik?" He looked down at her, eyes yellow and uncertain. She swallowed and felt her voice get hoarse. "Is it okay—Can I stay—I don't want to go home."

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><p>Please let me know what you think! Thanks!<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

****Thank you for the reviews!

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><p><strong>CH 4<strong>

"You don't want to go home," he slowly repeated, gazing at her. She could not look away from him.

"I—No. That sounds bad, that's not what I meant—It's just, I don't really have any blankets, so I'm sleeping on vinyl, and I…" She had been staring at him so long that her eyes began to water—either that or the lump in her throat had got to get her and she was going to cry. "My roommates are awful and I don't want to be alone there after tonight."

Erik was quiet for a while. She watched him, his eyes gazing over the top of her head, one hand in his pocket and the other at his side, messy black hair, water spots from the rag making a darker black on his shirt. He looked down at her and caught her staring and she quickly looked away, embarrassed.

"Why are you sleeping on vinyl?"

Further embarrassed, Christine reached for the door handle and pulled it open. "Alright, thanks Erik, let's go. I'm fine."

"No." His arm swung out and pushed the door shut. She looked up, startled, relieved. "It's alright. You can stay, I understand. I just wondered where the vinyl comment came in."

"Oh!" Christine felt herself exhale heavily, relief blossoming fully in her stomach as the dread of a night alone with her memories of the evening faded. "Thank you. So much. I'm sorry to be such a burden; I can sleep on the couch. I just really—I feel like it might take me awhile to fall asleep tonight," she laughed nervously.

"Completely understandable." Erik turned and began to head back down the hall towards the bathroom. "I'll find some blankets."

Christine swung in a circle awkwardly where she stood. One hand gripped her upper arm tightly. _Was this a good idea? I mean, I'm kinda proud of myself for asking, but I think I may have asked just to prove I could…_ She limped back to the couch and stiffly sat down. _This is gonna be so awkward. It wasn't worth it._

Footsteps approached from the hallway. She looked up; glad her thoughts were safely hidden away in her skull. Erik entered with an armful of blankets and a pillow pressed to his chest. His chin poked over the top of them so he could peer around and he came around the back of the couch and dumped them down on the cushion next to Christine, her back to him. She couldn't even see him and she swallowed down her annoyance with herself and his confusing, obviously unwilling acquiescence to her request. "Thanks," she said drily to his retreating footsteps.

"What?" Erik turned around. She was looking down at her lap and he blinked against the image of her profile, the smudge of her lashes above her cheeks. "Those aren't for you." She looked at him. "You get the bed. I'm not gonna make you sleep on the couch."

"Oh! No, that's okay!" Christine began to unfold the blankets and swung her legs up onto the couch. Wince. She leaned back against its arm. "Very comfy." Her lips quirked as she looked back at him. "I'm all settled in now… Guess I'll have to take the couch.

"Really, though," she became serious as he approached her. "I'm fine, I've already put you through enough…" Erik was reaching for the blanket. "What're you doing?"

He slowly pulled it off of her, careful not to damage her bandages. "Get up."

"No!"

"Christine…"

"Really." She felt like she was pleading now, he was too close, he was standing over her and she felt vaguely threatened and guilty for thinking ill of him and pissed at his rapid changes in action, or her inability to figure them out. _Why do you sound so annoyed but still help me? Why are you making the effort? Who gives a damn?_ "Really. I'm fine."

"Stop doing this." He leaned back with his arms folded.

"Oh, yeah, I'm the bad one now," she muttered.

"What?" Erik sat down on the edge of the coffee table. "Yeah, you are the 'bad one'. I know your pride must've been immensely hurt by that fall, but I think it's time you gave up on it—I really don't care. Now come on, get up."

Christine's mouth opened and closed, eyes mutinous on his blank face. "_My_ pride?"

"Yes." Erik reached out and took the pillow and kept that by him, too.

"Just because _you_ feel the need to control everything doesn't mean that everyone's going to go along with it! Now, I appreciate that you're trying to be helpful and _polite_ and all that, but I think I know when I'm fine, and I'm _fine_ right now! God, I can't believe I'm even arguing with you about this!"

"This is just what I'm talking about," Erik said matter-of-factly. Christine set her jaw and fairly felt like she would leap out the chair at him. "You refuse to accept help from people. And you say I have control issues? You only let me help you up to a point."

"And why shouldn't I? It's not like I even know you, beyond that you're _incredibly rude._"

"You're spending the night." Erik raised his eyebrows.

"I—Oh my God! You know what, you can think what you want, twist everything I do however, I don't care." Christine studiously looked away. Then, "And I don't _owe_ you or anything after this."

Erik laughed derisively. "Wow. Okay. Don't worry, you'll be the last person I think of when I happen to need help."

Christine snorted. "Good."

Some moments passed. Erik sat; chin in hand, gazing at the floor. Christine stared straight ahead stiffly.

Finally, "Well?" Christine turned toward him impatiently.

"What?" Erik asked.

"Are you gonna sit there all night?"

"If that's what it takes."

"Ugh!" Christine cried in exasperation. A smile was beginning to pull on her lips at his bored expression and the entire situation and she tightened them, trying to control it. _This isn't funny._ "Why can't you just be the bigger person? Just let me be immature and ungracious about this!"

"I guess I'm too _incredibly rude_ for that."

Christine huffed and stood. "Alright. Fine. Enjoy your uncomfy couch." She started towards the hallway.

"Do you even know where you're going?" Erik hurriedly stood and followed. "My room is this way." He slipped around her and led the way, opening a door on the right end of the hallway.

It was large and dim, one lamp creating a gold glow in the far corner. His bed was huge and navy blue, the headboard a large wood-paneled bookcase stretching the width of the bed, glass cupboard doors enclosing overwhelming amounts of books. A wooden roll-top desk sat at the opposite wall, closed tight. Sheer red floor length curtains covered up the view from the balcony across the room. Christine looked around with her mouth open a little.

She turned around and the grin broke forth on her lips. Erik found himself smiling back at her and didn't know why.

"This is really nice," she said, turning back around. "Are you sure…?"

"Christine, I-"

"Wait," she turned back around suspiciously. "I know why you-"

"Please don't insult me by finishing that sentence. That _is not_ the case."

"Okay…" she moved towards the bed and stiffly sat down, pulling the shorts' elastic band away from her injured hip. "Well. Thank you." She looked around, up at the ceiling.

"Always," sarcastically. He turned to go.

"Erik-"

He turned back around. The smile was back on her face, so big, her cheekbones shadowed in the lamplight; he felt his breath suck in and he was smiling too and this all was suddenly so silly, why was he so pissed at her, was it really worth it? No, it couldn't be. "What?"

"I'm sorry I was such a stubborn ass."

He kind of nodded at her, softening, and turned again.

"I really dislike being helped." He stopped and stood, back to her, rigidly gazing ahead. "It's not my pride—well, maybe it is. I really dislike it, anyway. So I'm sorry I was such a pill. I know I told you that but really, I mean it."

She saw his head turn down. He stood like that for a moment, then, "Why _are_ you sleeping on vinyl? You never told me."

"Oh," Christine laughed and looked down. "My mattress is vinyl, and I only have a sheet to sleep with, so it gets all twisted and so on and I end up sticking to the vinyl. It sucks."

Erik turned half towards her. "Why do you only have a sheet, girl?"

Christine shrugged. "Well, it's not like I could bring my whole bed from Oregon, could I? I thought it'd work better than it is. Oops."

Erik shook his head. "You realize I'm going to have to give you a blanket now, don't you?"

She kind of laughed and he watched her smile at him. "I might actually accept that. Then I could get a decent sleep and be able to put up with you better."

Erik snorted. "Yeah, good luck. At least it's a start." He turned back to the door.

"Goodnight, Erik. And thanks."

"Goodnight Christine."

After the blankets had been spread over the couch, after he had let himself relax and the lights were out and the freezer and AC had begun to hum, after he had stretched out his body, he closed his eyes. Christine's smiling expression cropped up against his eyelids.

His lips quirked up unconsciously.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Christine awoke the next morning lying awkwardly on one side, trying not to put too much weight on anything in her sleep. She groaned softly at the red light filtering in through the curtains and shifted, body aching and stiff. Sleepy fingers reached up and tenderly prodded her ribs and hipbones, which seemed to flash against her touch in pain. _Ugh._

She rubbed her eyes and slowly swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood, lifting up her shirt to take a better look. A long, lake shaped purple-black bruise stretched over her left hipbone and up her side, interrupted by a weepy bandage on its lower end. Christine looked around the room for a bathroom. She was nervous about leaving and seeing Erik again. _Mornings are too… intimate, that sort of thing._ There wasn't one so she went over to the balcony, procrastinating.

The curtains felt like silk and she pulled them aside, sunlight bright and harsh in the room. It was hot on her face and she blinked and squinted. She opened the sliding glass door and stepped out onto the balcony.

The white tiled floor was smooth under her bare feet and the edges of the terrace were sleekly bordered in a glass guardrail. Christine leaned against it. She wasn't quite sure where she was, but she looked down upon a city, sleepy in the warm sun. The roads were empty and she could see the white peaks of churches. From her spot, the building continued on, gleaming like a mirror and curving away from her. She couldn't see what was next to her. The height allowed her a view of the Mississippi, though, which she hadn't seen before.

She gazed across it to the other side for a long time, the train tracks that ran along one side, the golden-pink gleam of the sun on the rippling surface. A barge swiftly went by. Christine flipped her hair over one shoulder, stretched her arms and peered at one scraped elbow. _I am so lucky._ She looked up again, across the city, breathing it in, the emptiness, the freedom, her own health. _Thank you. I am okay._ She turned to go and stopped as she saw Erik leaning against the glass door, mug of coffee in his hand. He had a baggy black t-shirt on and gray plaid pajama pants, barefoot.

Her mouth was slightly open, unsure what to say, how long he had been there. _Did I do anything weird while you were around? And why _were _you around?_

"This is my favorite view," Erik came to stand next to her. "How're you feeling?"

"Alright," Christine shrugged.

"Oh," Erik nodded, took a swig of coffee. "I heard the door open and figured it was safe to enter. Sorry if I startled you."

Christine nodded slowly. _Really?_ She gazed studiously at the view. She felt that she could picture herself right now, picture the discomfort—body intent on gazing west, intent on ignoring his presence, and maybe if she were an actress, she could pretend she was some scarred individual, gazing out across the city of her youth, uncomfortable only due to the memories it provoked, but—

"If you look that way, you can see Huey Long's 'castle', as they call it," Erik pointed in the other direction and Christine crossed the balcony. "He was the inspiration for _All the King's Men_, have you read it?"

Christine shook her head. Long's castle, from what she could tell, was a large, cube-like building which had all the decorations of a castle with none of the romance or taste. It looked like a building with turrets.

"You live in Baton Rouge?"

Erik nodded. "Probably should've mentioned that. It's nice to have some distance between me and work."

"Hmm," Christine replied thoughtfully. _Damn. Long car ride ahead._

As if he could read her mind, Erik said, "It's only about thirty minutes away, really." He turned to go back inside. "Coffee?"

"Yes, please," Christine replied, turning back to the view. She stood there for a moment before returning inside, the AC cold and slightly unpleasant as she shut the door_. Back to real life._

Erik's kitchen was another extension of his modern home, everything sleek and metal and silver. Somehow, however, it evaded being impersonal. Maybe it was the window by the square black marble dining table, which was bathing the room in gold, sunlight glinting and reflecting off nearby buildings. Christine sat down on a stool at the island in the center and watched Erik open his cupboard; pull out a glass mug. As he reached up, she gazed at his arms. They were fair but firm looking, and as he stretched for the glass, his black short-sleeve fell back, exposing something thick and pale and shiny on his upper bicep. Christine blinked. It was a gaping and jagged scar. Puckered, stretched tight on his skin.

Christine leaned back and contained her gasp. She didn't want to think how it had been caused. It didn't look natural. _What kind of accident could have made that?_ For some reason, she didn't blurt out a question about it. For some reason, she thought it wasn't that kind of situation.

Erik set the coffee cup down steaming in front of her and she wrapped her fingers around it, watching her hands. When Erik's back was turned, she looked at him cautiously. _What happened to you?_

_Christine, stop being dramatic._

But she couldn't deny that she felt a little bit too sick to be exaggerating things. _There must be a reasonable explanation. It's just a scar._

_Why do you feel like it would be the absolute worst idea to ask, then?_

Erik turned back around with a plate with hardboiled eggs and toast on it and set it in front of her. He sat down on a stool across the island and reached for an egg. She felt his eyes on her face as he peeled it but he didn't say anything. From the corner of her vision, she saw him pull down on one sleeve.

She closed her eyes momentarily in regret.

She reached for a piece of toast and didn't look up at him.

Erik cleared his throat.

Christine continued to look down. "You have a very nice apartment," chewing.

"Mmm," he replied.

Christine looked up. He was watching her. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Oh," she looked back down and slowly peeled off a chunk of toast. She looked around the room slowly, desperate for something to talk about. _He caught you judging. He caught you again. Why can't I just be blank._

"Damn!" she realized suddenly, glancing at Erik. "I'm not going to be able to run for awhile because of this." She groaned.

Erik narrowed his eyes and frowned. "Alright? Oh noo..." sarcastic.

"Yeah…" Christine muttered. _Now what am I gonna do with my time. Also, so much for that effort…_

The rest of breakfast passed in silence. Christine gathered her sweaty, bloody clothes and Erik let her remain in his borrowed shirt and shorts. He drove her home and the ride passed in silence, Christine staring out the window at passing oaks and fields and run-down houses and nice houses and increasing amounts of fields, green, bordered in fences, on and on. They reached the street leading to Christine's apartment block, past the red-trimmed sign indicating that this area was one of LSU's proud research centers. Erik took a left and pulled towards the Spanish-style building, stopping near her room.

Christine turned toward him. "Thank you for driving me…"

Erik nodded, his body angled towards her. She felt self-conscious in her huge clothing suddenly.

"Thanks for everything," Christine laughed awkwardly and looked down. "The clothes, and breakfast, and helping me… Thank you so much. I really do owe you." She looked up. "Thank you."

Erik smiled kind of, lips tight, closed. "You're welcome. I'm glad I was there."

"Alright," Christine opened the door. "Have a good one. Thanks again," she turned back. _I'm sorry I was such a huge douche_. But she didn't say it. Because she wasn't. She was still confused slightly and wanted to think, combine everything into one event.

She stood and closed the car door and stepped onto the curb. She was sticking her key in the lock when his car finally reversed and left.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

After a day spent aching around her apartment, shifting positions on her bed so frequently that she soon wanted to scream, then attempting to watch old Saturday Night Live skits outside as an alternative and getting too hot, Monday came as a welcome relief—there was no need for Christine to entertain herself. For the most part. She limped the three blocks to work and was grateful that three-quarter sleeves and shorts covered the worst of her injuries. Knee scrapes were no big deal and she fielded little to no questions.

Crouched beside one of the black countertops, she was squinting at a tiny vial while slowly pipetting liquid out of it with a syringe. The lab was relatively quiet today, as was usual on Mondays. The entire center seemed to flow on the whims of its researchers, and if they didn't want to work on Mondays, well then, by God, work would not be done. Christine liked it. Someone had turned on the Fray at the back of the lab and—while not her favorite band—she hummed along.

"Hey."

"Hmmm?" Christine didn't look away from the vial. If the nanoparticles clumped at its tip got sucked into the needle of the syringe, they'd be damaged and useless and she'd have to start over. "Sorry, just a min."

"No worries," it was Aaron, a nicer grad student in the lab. Slightly overweight, dark skinned, Aaron sometimes talked to Christine about his girl problems. She mostly laughed and listened.

"Okay," she carefully capped and set down the vial. "What's up?"

"Can you go pick up some packages for me in Middleton? I really need them, but this trial's about to finish stirring and we're the only ones in the lab right now."

"Yeah, sure," Christine discarded the syringe in the sharps container. _Middleton is Erik's territory. _

_I just saw him yesterday. Too much. Too much contact._

And thus a resolve to hide was born.

_Enter stealth mode._

She slipped outside, the heat at first a welcome warm up after the chill of the air conditioning. Two blocks later, sweat was beading on her upper lip.

The main door to Middleton swung shut behind her, silently; the building wrapped her in its musty bookish smell and light danced on the dust motes above the glassed-in center directory. She stood over it and peered for a while. _I think I'm falling in love… With a building._

_Christine, stop that. No more crazy._

She found the room for the main office and headed down a dim hallway. Perhaps this building was hardly in use in the summer and that was the reason for its gloom. In any case, she didn't really mind.

She reached the office. No one was there. It had a main mahogany counter, a ways behind which one of those gray felt dividers stood, blocking the rest of the room from view. She could see a hallway passing different offices with windows further down the room, across from the divider. Behind the front desk were several windows with a view of the immediate grounds: green lawn and bushes with bright orange bell-shaped flowers. Christine didn't know what they were. She looked around, down the hallway, leaned over the counter. The room was well lit, and a coffee mug was sitting behind the counter in front of her. In fact, she thought she heard the hum of a microwave from the back and smelled spaghetti. "Hello?"

Nothing.

Footsteps. But from outside the office, down the hallway. She suddenly remembered. _Shit! Stealth mode stealth mode! _She looked around the room wildly. They were coming closer. She stood straighter, took a deep breath, leaned casually against the counter. _Just act normal. You work here, you can go where you want. If he thinks more of it that's his prob—_

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><p><strong><strong>Please review! Thanks!


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you for the reviews!

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><p><strong>CH 5<strong>

"Hello!" A plump, older blonde lady waddled toward her with a tupperware from behind the fake wall. "Can I help you with somethin'?"

"Umm, yeah!" Christine hoped she hadn't jumped. "Is this where you pick up packages?"

"Sure is," the lady plopped down onto a seat and began to stir her spaghetti. "Woo! Hot enough for ya? They keep sayin' it's gonna storm, but boy, let me tell you-" she leaned forwards conspiratorially, "can't come soon enough, _can_ it? Normally we've had a good amount of 'em by now—I set my watch by 'em last year—but this summer," she shook her head, blowing on her spaghetti, "this summer, hoo boy." She continued to shake her head and took a bite.

"It storms? I thought hurricanes came in the fall," Christine asked curiously.

"No, no, no, girl, _thunder_storms. Hooo, where you from? You see, your first Louisiana thunderstorm, well, they're real nice. Everything cools down a _lot_. _Real_ nice." She took another bite.

Christine smiled slightly. "I'm from Oregon. And I love storms, I'm looking forwards to seeing them."

The lady smiled back at her, nodded once emphatically. "Well. You just don't get caught out in them, and you'll like them just fine. Just fine. Now you wanted a package?" she stood and looked around. "What name?"

"Um… Aaron. Aaron Tate."

"Alright…" The lady bent under the desk and pulled out a moderately sized cardboard box. "There ya go, sweetie. What was your name?"

"Christine," she held out her hand and felt the woman's warm, dry one shake it.

"Well I'm Antoinette Giry, but you go ahead and call me Aunty just like everyone else. And if I'm not around again when you needta pick somethin' up, you just holler, okay? Sometimes I get distracted. These old bones," she shook her head. "Old tired bones."

Christine grinned. "Thanks so much," she said, starting toward the doorway. "Have a good one."

Back in the hall, she felt warm and welcome and continued to smile to herself. Stealth mode was unnecessary. She kind of wanted to hang out with Antoinette instead of working—there was an actual education, there was someone—she thought—with the Louisiana culture she'd hoped to experience, the warmth and earthiness she'd expected to feel everywhere.

_Oh, that my loneliness knew no bounds, could leap fences, climb trees, be freer than I am right now…_

Against a doorway further down the hall, Erik leant in the dark and observed. He watched the warmth in her expression suddenly become conflicted; confused almost; her lashes covered her eyes, downcast, cheekbones prominent with the downward tilt of her head. She stopped suddenly and looked up at the ceiling. Shook her head, gave a bit of a heavy sigh and her lips twisted up again, accepting; she continued walking. Twisted around the corner and disappeared. The door creaked and gusted shut.

Erik stepped out of the doorjamb and started toward Antoinette's office.

She looked up from a ledger when he came in; glasses perched on the end of her nose in the clichéd grandmotherly way only Antoinette could pull off. "Well. Look at you!"

"Um," Erik glanced over his shoulder. "Yes, I suppose that's customary?"

"Ohh poo," Antoinette stood, went to the bookshelves beside the back windows and scanned the shelves. "I saw ya walk by earlier, why didn't ya just come in then?" She peered back at him. "I haven't seen that young lady around here before, you know her?"

"She's just an intern."

"Well." Antoinette turned back to the shelf. "You seem awful eager to avoid a mere _intern_."

Erik made a noise somewhere between a choke and a cough and replied curtly, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Antoinette plopped back into her seat and let two plastic binders smack down on the desk. She opened one and began to sift through a stack of bills nearby. "Mmm. Well."

A short silence ensued in which a fly buzzed outside and Antoinette's pen scratched. She looked up. "Didja come in here for something, or didja just feel like chattin'?"

Erik looked startled. "Oh! Yes. I have a package to pick up."

On his way out, Antoinette called after him, "You be nice to that girl! You hear?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The microscopy lab was the most painful lab Christine had to deal with. It was down in the basement of the building she worked in and the doors were always locked, meaning she had to waste the time she was scheduled for to find someone with a key. Upon finally achieving entry, the preparation room lay before her like a junk-filled wasteland. She cautiously tiptoed through it to find her supplies—of course in a different place each time. Then there were the infuriating little copper screens where she pipetted a drop of her sample, which always got crumpled or stuck to the pipette or flipped upside down. By the time she got to the electron microscope, her stomach was growling and she was taking deep breaths to avoid screaming in frustration.

The other half of her time was spent in attempting to focus the damn thing, which was as old and large as a machine from a _Star Wars_ movie. She was lucky if, by the time her allotted period with the machine was up, she had three or four good images of her nanoparticles and the budding silver growth on them. And this was after three or four hours.

She emerged from the bowels of the basement that particular Friday with her slowly healing legs and arms numb from the air conditioning and went outside and stood in the sun for a long time, until she felt alive again. She went back inside and upstairs to drop off her sample in the oven, ready to head to lunch.

Megan was leaning against the back counter when Christine came in, talking to Dr. Kelly. Christine looked down and attempted to look preoccupied as she stepped into the little room where the oven was. "Christine!" she heard as she stepped out. She looked up. Both Kelly and Megan were looking at her.

"Yeah?" she answered uncomfortably.

"How's that silver growth lookin'?" Dr. Kelly asked. He had a blue plaid shirt on today, stretched tight across his rotund stomach.

"Pretty good," Christine smiled up shyly. "I think I'm figurin' it out. I'll have the images for you Monday."

"Hey-hey! Great!" Kelly laughed. "High five!" He raised his hand and Christine awkwardly smacked it.

"Christine," Megan started, smiling.

"What's up?" Christine smiled back at her. She liked Megan. She made her feel like she was on an equal playing field.

"What're you up to this Friday?"

"Umm… I don't know. I think I was gonna go bike around a bit, maybe. Why?"

"Well, Raoul and I are gonna go see this local band in Baton Rouge and I was wondering if you wanted to come with! They're really great, and you seem like the kind of girl to like alternative music, if you want?"

"Um," _why are you inviting me? Do you want a third wheel?_ "Um, I don't know! I mean, thanks! For inviting me, it sounds really fun. How 'bout I'll call you? I'm just… Not sure what I'm doing yet, so…"

"Yeah, yeah, of course. No problem," Megan smiled. "Gimme a call if you can! It'll be really fun." She returned to talking with Dr. Kelly about her project and Christine slipped past, grabbed her backpack, and began the walk back to her apartment.

Over a lunch of apples and peanut butter, egg salad sandwiches, chocolate milk, and bananas, Christine considered. Her apartment was silent and empty and she vaguely wondered what her roommates were up to. She'd seen the racist one a couple nights ago—she'd popped in, boyfriend waiting awkwardly by the door, grabbed something from her room and left. Christine was surprised she had anything left in the apartment to get.

_But if I go with Megan tonight, it could be a Kelly's 'get together' thing all over again… I mean, that wasn't that bad, but it wasn't amazing either…_ The debate continues.

She was kind of tired of forcing herself to be social. On the other hand, biking was most definitely not going to happen. The more she thought about it, the more surrounding herself with people began to sound like a good idea. _I could even just hang out on my own, too. It's a concert, its not like I have to make conversation._

After texting Megan, Christine gave her dad a call. He didn't answer. Her voicemail sounded sad and she didn't try to hide it.

"Hey Dad, it's Christine. Gimme a call when you can, I'm just eating lunch. Somehow I've managed to escape doing anything wrong too frequently over the past week, so I guess that's good. And a month here is almost done! So that's good too. Anyway, just feeling kinda lonely and bored, missing home and all that. I hope everything's good with you, call me when you can! I love you, Dad. Can't wait to come home. Call me! Bye."

She sighed and set her phone down.

That night, she took extra time on her hair and makeup. She fluffed her hair up with gel and scrunched it until it hung in an unruly, hippy-ish mess down to the middle of her back. It was getting redder in the southern sunlight. She fumbled through her tiny makeup bag until she found the small sample tube of red lipstick and put it on. _Hell, why not._

The casual red sundress she'd found at a thrift store fit better than she'd thought it would and she made a small smile at her reflection, lips pursed. She thought the Band-Aids on her elbows were almost cool; they made her feel like a badass.

Christine was a master at selectively considering situations. She had yet to let her mind settle on the fear from _that_ event, the risk she put herself in, the ugliness of the human spirit she'd nearly been prey to. _Maybe later. I'll think about it later. Channel Scarlett O'Hara._

"Damn, girl!" Megan exclaimed, twisting to face Christine from the driver's seat as she opened the back door. "You be lookin' _fine_ tonight!"

"Hi Christine," Raoul turned back to smile at her. "How are things?"

"Same old-same old," Christine smiled back.

The car ride passed in friendly conversation and good music. Christine sunk into the back seat. She felt warm and welcome and marveled at feelings so easily taken for granted at home. There was no better thing, she thought as they arrived. No better thing than people who made an effort at inclusion.

The venue was small—big enough to fit roughly one hundred people—the stage about fifty yards from the back wall. At the back of the room, an upper deck area slightly above stage height was roped off and being used as a bar. People sat at tables and looked out on the stage and the floor. The inside of the venue was painted black, lit by stage lights and neon lamps decorating the walls and ceiling in swirling shapes. Christine could hear the murmur of voices throughout the room, louder by the bar; the clang of instruments being set up, mikes checked on the stage.

She stood at the back of the room while Megan used the bathroom and Raoul went to the bar. "Here," Raoul handed her a beer upon his return. "I know you're not twenty-one, but hey, it's Louisiana."

Megan returned and Raoul handed her a beer too and they all sipped for a moment. Christine was grateful to have something to do with her hands.

Erik was equally grateful, seated at a table on the outermost edge of the bar, one hand playing with the rope guardrail. Nadir, himself, and Nala were gathered in considerable silence, sipping. Every now and then Nadir's fingers stroked along Nala's palm and she'd squeeze them. It was sweet, in a sickening way. Erik wished they'd hold hands under the table.

Erik gave a bit of a sigh, finished his beer and left to get another. Nadir tilted his head at Nala. She tilted her head back at him in a mocking manner, black eyes sparkling, and Nadir laughed. "Tonight, I present to you a special gift: another of the many moods of Erik Devereaux. This one is interesting, folks, as there's a small chance it may have to do with a member of the opposite sex."

"Ooh," Nala spoke with a slight Indian accent and clasped her hands together, turned to observe Erik as he stood at the bar. "How exciting. Who's the lucky girl?"

"Well…" Nadir craned his head back to look at Erik. "Don't tell him I told you any of this, okay? It's kinda an interesting story though. Last weekend, he saved this chick on a bike he apparently knew from work. The whole time he acted pissed about it though, but I got it out of him that he took her back to his house afterwards."

"Really?" Nala's eyes widened. "Wait, did she fall off her bike or something? How did he _save_ her? And-"

"Ssh-sh! He's coming back. I'll tell you in a bit." Nala poked him in the arm in reply and casually sipped her beer when Erik sat down.

He glanced suspiciously at the two of them then looked out on the stage.

Suddenly, Nadir elbowed Nala in the gut. "Ugh!" she coughed and choked. "Jeez, Nadir, _what?_"

Nadir bugged his eyes and jerked his head in the direction of the dance floor.

"_What?_" she asked, peeved. He jerked his head again. At her quizzical look, he sighed and shook his head.

"Nevermind."

Erik had been watching this tableau with an amused expression and now looked in the direction of Nadir's head jerk. He didn't see anything. The room was rapidly filling with people, and he idly watched a girl in a red dress disappear in the shifting crowd. He looked back at Nadir in time to see Nala's eyes widen. He couldn't tell what from this angle, but she mouthed something to Nadir and he nodded.

"What're you guys doing? I think it was better when you were holding hands, go back to that." Erik raised his visible eyebrow at them.

Nala turned to him with a smirk. "We were just discussing couple-y things. You would've been disgusted."

Erik scoffed and Nadir grinned. "She knows you so well."

The lights lowered and the band started. Erik's attention turned to the stage. He watched the opening act for a bit, foot tapping now and then. The lights flashed and changed colors in different areas of the room. On the middle-right side of the crowd, Erik's gaze settled on the girl in the red dress again. She was swaying to the music, foot tapping, clutching a brown bottle in both hands. Beside her, a slightly taller girl stood, her arm around the waist of the man next to her. She leaned over and said something to the girl in the red dress and red dress girl turned toward her, face lifted, laughing.

Erik leaned forward. The lights tinted from blue to green to red to yellow and in the yellow, he watched the girl turn back toward the stage, hips swaying from side to side. Her hair was long and luscious down her back, glinting like coppery-gold. He watched one arm stiffly straighten and thought it odd that it should move like that for someone so young. What was on her elbow? In the light it looked an odd color compared with the rest of her skin. It looked like one of those huge bandages people use for idiotic…

_God, I'm fucking slow. _

Erik twitched back against the seat. His eyes jerked around: the crowd, the stage, the lights twisting along the walls. Irises golden in the shadows, his eyes again settled upon Christine. They moved along her slim calves, up the hem of her red dress, softening as they took in her waist, the wavy mess of her hair, the slip of her shoulders. Her head tilt as she drank, the move of her throat as she swallowed. Suddenly Erik felt terrified. His hand was gripping his thigh, the skin stretched tight on his knuckles. He stood in a rush and went to the bar and bought another beer.

Discreetly, Nadir watched his friend stand and leave. He watched the band unseeingly for a moment, leaned his head against Nala's. He feared for Erik's pain.

Leaning against the counter, against his will Erik found Christine again. He suddenly thought of her laughing while sitting on his bed.

When he'd walked her to his apartment from his car, her face had been so close to his as he'd fumbled with the door key, her side flush to him.

Erik's mouth twisted, hand curled in one pocket. He swigged. Behind Christine, he observed two guys, roughly her age, talking to each other while watching her.

His eyes jerked across the room, jaw tightening with the jerk of his head away. Beer bottle set down hard on the counter, bubbly brown water fizzing to just under the bottle top then sinking down. Erik leaned against the counter and exhaled shortly. Quick inhale. He looked back. The men were watching the band now. Maybe it was nothing.

The opening band finished and the lights came back up. Christine turned to the couple beside her and smiled and said something. She made her way to the other side of the room and put her bottle in the recycling. Then, instead of heading towards her friends, she threaded her way through the crowd to the back of the room. Erik backed up. She was walking toward the bar.

He slipped to the other end of the counter, hidden in the shadows so he could continue to observe her. She flipped her hair over one shoulder and stepped up to a man sitting at the end of the bar. He looked to be about thirty-five, Erik thought disgustedly. What was she doing? Really? The little alcoholic.

As he watched, she pursed her red lips and smiled at the man and said something. The man tipped his head back and laughed and nodded. I bet she even makes him pay for it, Erik sneered to himself as he took a swallow of beer. She handed the man something and the man held it up for the bartender's attention—it was obviously cash. Erik swallowed and leaned forward. The man nodded at the bartender, who handed him a beer. When the barman turned around, the man slid it toward Christine and laughed. He shook her hand and she smiled at him and went back down the steps to the dance floor.

As much as he hated to admit it, the entire affair was looking more and more innocent—except for the whole underage drinking part. In fact, Erik realized uncomfortably, he had seen Christine make those same motions, the hair flip, the lip purse, after she'd fallen off her bike. Before speaking, answering Nadir while slumped on his ratty yellow couch, she had pursed her lips. He remembered the switch of her hair from one shoulder to another while she stood on the balcony, back to him. He wondered if she really was so naïve she didn't recognize those as flirting, especially in a situation like that. He wondered why the weight slumping his shoulders seemed to lift a little.

He moved back to the other end of the bar, closer to the stage. She seemed to be staring into space, the couple beside her absorbed with each other. By now Erik had realized it was Megan and Raoul. He didn't care.

The two men he noticed earlier fell into his line of vision again. One elbowed the other and the elbowed one seemed to lean back from his friend, then look towards Christine. He began to walk towards her.

Without thinking, Erik jumped upright, out of a slouch. Hurried down the stairs. He slipped through the crowd like a flickering shadow.

Christine swigged her beer. She glanced over at Megan and Raoul—his arms were around her shoulders, her back to his chest. _I knew this was gonna happen._ She took another swig. _You know what, though? _ She inwardly toasted herself. _To getting out of the apartment. I can still have fun._ She finished her beer in a matter of gulps and turned in the direction of the garbage bins. Looked up.

Erik was coming towards her, his black-clad shoulders shifting through the crowd. In the dim, his mask was almost unnoticeable, and she wondered vaguely if that encouraged him to come here. Christine looked down at her beer bottle, fingers twisting around its neck, and back up. He stood in front of her now and she watched the hard fast rise and fall of his chest. _You're so thin_.

In the cover of the dim gold lights, Christine steadily gazed up at his face and let her eyes explore it for the first time. She was defiant and curious. He had yet to speak.

His eyelids shaded his irises to a green color but when he blinked they went yellow again. His mouth was always a flat line when he looked at her. The shadows hollowed his visible cheekbone and her thoughts floated—it was the first time she really recognized the make up of a person—not in character—in the cells and organs and bones that propped humans up and held them together. Behind Erik's face, she was very aware of his skull. It wasn't disturbing; she felt oddly touched by its honesty, shocked that she wasn't aware of this in every face.

The boniness of his frame was not fragile, though; if anything he was all angles, all sharp, and the wiry strength she could see in his chest and arms and the way he had… _attacked_, last Saturday—_think of it later, not now, later_—was threatening.

"Erik," Christine inclined her head and smiled tightly.

"Hello," he said stiffly.

The band started and he stood beside her.

Stiffly, Christine leaned to the side and narrowed her eyes at him. _What the hell? What is this?_ She turned awkwardly back to the stage and watched the first song. Its sounds mixed in her head and she wanted to sway, but she felt too uncomfortable and stood ramrod straight.

At the end of the song, she again turned to dispose of her bottle when Erik said, "Christine."

"Yes?" exasperatedly.

"How are…" his mouth closed and twisted and he looked around the room. "How are your cuts healing?"

"Oh," she nodded, "quick enough, you know." She turned away again. The band started.

"Christine!" Erik yelled to be heard.

She turned back around uncertainly.

"It's really hard to hear," he pointed to the door, "will you join me outside for a minute?"

Christine looked around the room, opened and closed her mouth. Looked back at him. "Alright…?"

She followed him through the crowd and out the door. A few people were smoking and talking outside. They moved beyond the range of the smokers to a stone bench further down the street, overlooking the Mississippi.

"So?" Christine stopped and looked up.

Hands in his pockets, Erik looked out on the rippling water. He didn't know why he did it. It just came out.

"Dr. Kelly and I were talking and we thought it would be a good idea for you to come to my lab a couple times a week to be trained on the DLS. Then you could collect data for various projects of Kelly's and mine, during the downtimes with yours."

"Oh!" Christine looked startled and swallowed. _Well, you wanted more to do. I just didn't think I would get it._ "Okay… Kelly didn't tell me about this when I talked to him today… Maybe he forgot." She looked out on the water. "Um, well, what times would be good? And I have to tell you; I don't know anything about DLS. Like I don't even know what it stands for."

"That's alright," Erik waved it away. "Does tomorrow morning at eight work?"

"Tomorrow's Saturday," Christine said in dismay. She turned to him, one hand fingering the hem of her dress. "I'm really not that busy during the week, couldn't we do it then? I'm fine with staying late."

"I-" Erik swallowed. "I, unfortunately, am quite busy weekdays. It's going to have to be weekends." _Fucking Kelly! He'll notice if she's gone._

"Okay…" Christine's eyebrows furrowed. "Weird, I can't believe Kelly was so absentminded he forgot to tell me this. And how come you're telling me about it here?"

"Is this twenty questions? Actually, I'm just so desperate for your company that I'm making the whole thing up." Erik sneered. "I happened to see you and figured this would work best. I want to get it out of the way."

"You know what? I'm only gonna work with you if you let me call you 'mercury man', 'cause that should freaking be your real name, you change at a goddamn moment's notice! What the _hell?_"

Erik snorted. "Sometimes I think you're five years old."

"Why did you even agree to help me?" Christine flashed back, leaning in. "You obviously don't want to. Someone else could save you the trouble."

Erik was silent. He glared back at her for a moment and then looked away. He felt Christine do the same after a period of time.

Both stood in silence.

"Why did you help me before?" Christine turned to him in confusion. He didn't answer. She mumbled something rude sounding.

"What?" Erik asked sharply.

"I _said_, maybe you're just too _weak_ to say no to people!"

Erik's jaw set and he stepped toward her, loomed over her. His face was undeniably skull-like now. If this was what the mask was supposed to camouflage, it was a small drop in an ocean.

"I am _not_ weak," his voice hissed. It curled and fell through the air like smoke. His fists were rigid at his sides.

Christine sharply inhaled. He was intimidating now, threatening. She slowly lifted her arms and folded them across her chest, careful not to touch him. _What would happen next if I—You do yourself in, Christine Daae. You do yourself in._ She tilted her chin up stubbornly.

"Why do you act like you hate me so much, then?"

His jaw was clenched tight, the muscle standing out. He leaned forward. Mouth opened. His yellow eyes focused on hers, heated, bright. His mouth slowly closed. One tight fist lifted, unwound, in the air beside her bare shoulder. His fingers seemed to tremble. They were long and pale in the streetlamp.

Christine held her breath. Watched him nervously, eyes flickering over his face. The hair on her shoulder lifted towards the heat from his hand, pulling her toward it like a magnet.

Erik's shoulders sagged. His hand dropped and he turned away. "I don't _dis_like you," he said tersely.

She stared at him exasperatedly. "Okay…"

"If anything, _you're_ the antagonistic one." He turned back to her coldly.

"Oh, I thought we were done with this!" Christine threw up her hands. "Look, it's been _real_ fun, but I didn't come here to argue with you-"

"Seems to be what you're doing, though," Erik remarked acidly.

Christine closed her eyes briefly. "I'm going inside."

"Be in my office at eight tomorrow morning," Erik called after her retreating back.

She paused for a moment and her fists clenched in the folds of her dress. She started walking again with a shake of her hair and could picture the satisfied smirk on his face.

Megan looked concerned upon her reentry and hurried over to her, shouting to be heard over the music. "Where were you? Were you talking with Erik? What did he want?"

Christine shook her head. "I'll tell you later," she shouted back. Megan continued to look worried, but followed her back to where Raoul was standing. He and Megan exchanged a look, and he raised his eyebrows at Christine. She shook her head and shouted "I'll tell you later" again.

She watched the door but Erik didn't come back in.

As soon as they got outside, Megan turned to Christine and grabbed her arm. "What did he want?"

"Apparently, Kelly wants him to train me on the DLS." Christine shrugged.

"He does?" Megan leaned back. A strange look came over her face. "That's weird."

"Yeah, I don't know—I mean, it could come in handy, I guess. It just sucks 'cause it's on the weekends. How long do you think it'll take? Do you know how to use it?"

"I don't," Megan said slowly. "Hmmm…" she murmured to herself.

"Do you know Erik pretty well?" Christine asked curiously.

"I suppose," Megan replied. "If anyone really can, anyway."

"Has he worked at the research center for awhile? Is that why?"

"No, he's just… An old friend of the family." Megan paused. "I'm not really sure how, even." She laughed suddenly and turned to Raoul. "They were really good, huh? Even better live!"

Raoul heartily agreed, taking some unseen cue. They continued to chatter and Christine wondered. At first she had been taken aback by Megan's laughter, thinking her annoyed with her questions, but then she remembered Megan's 'It's Erik' comment at Kelly's party and began to reconsider.

_Honestly, he just seems like one of those really confused people. I bet he's got some issues and maybe Megan knows about them and doesn't want to betray a confidence,_ Christine inwardly shrugged. _That's probably it. Whatever._

_Are you really gonna go to his office tomorrow?_

Christine bit her lip as she they crossed a parking lot. _I don't really have a choice—there's a conversation I don't want to have, Kelly asking me why I didn't go get trained on that damn machine... Shit._

_And honestly, you kind of like pissing him off. Admit it._

_He's such an idiot. How does he not _get _that?_

_Wait, why do I like that? I don't like that! I mean, he's so rude; he _does_ fucking deserve it. _

* * *

><p>Please review! Thanks!<p> 


	6. Chapter 6

**CH 6**

The next morning Christine woke up with fifteen minutes until she was supposed to meet Erik. She groaned. _I know he made it eight a.m. on purpose. I'm gonna tell him that, too._

She didn't bother to rush and left the apartment at eight fifteen. By the time the old elevator doors in Middleton opened, it was eight thirty. _This is gonna go real shitty._

Christine pushed open the door to his 'office', if it could be called that. Up in the balcony she heard something shift. "You're late."

"Good morning," she said, sickeningly cheerful, and started up the stairs at the other side of the room. "I brought some rainbows and butterflies to make this awful experience a little easier for you."

The balcony was dim like it had been before, lit only by a skylight in the center of the peaked roof. The day was gray, dark and muggy, and little light came in. Erik looked up from a desk in the back corner. He stood and faced her and she could make out the smirk on his face as he watched her approach. "You look _tired,_" he said with fake sympathy. "Poor thing."

Christine's eyes narrowed. She stopped in front of him. "Let's get this over with. Where's the DLS? What do I need to do?"

Erik walked to the center of the room, circumventing tables piled with papers, instruments, bottles, various whirring machines. A large, white machine sat on one of the black countertops, taking up its entire width and almost the entire length. "This," Erik let his hand rest on it, "is the DLS. DLS stands for dynamic light scattering, and it measures the amount of light travelling through a solution to determine the solution's concentration—in short." He pulled one of her sample vials from a tray and held it up. "First, we have to filter the sample, so that we only get your nanoparticles—no silver fragments, nothing but the spheres." Christine nodded. He opened a drawer and pulled out a small plastic object, packaged in sterile wrapping. He handed her one and took another for himself.

"This filter is 150 nanometers—it's small enough to prevent your spheres from going through, but big enough to let through most of the other junk. Okay?" He put on a pair of gloves and instructed Christine to do the same. "First, we have to make the solution for filtering. The one in the vial is too concentrated for the filter to handle."

He went through the steps of solution mixing, Christine occasionally taking notes on amounts. Finally, Erik indicated it was time for the filtering. Christine attached a small rubber tube to the cover of the filter, which looked like a tiny top. She considered spinning it but didn't dare. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Christine looked up.

"My first Louisiana storm!" she grinned.

Mocking, Erik raised his eyebrows at her in false excitement and then continued. "Now take the syringe, and you've got five microliters right? Okay. Slowly, _slowly_, inject the solution until you've filled up the tube. Okay?" Christine nodded, holding the filter up to eye level. "Now, just hold it even. It'll move through the filter on its own."

Both silent, they stood peering at their filters.

The building was quiet but for the tap of rain on the skylight. It really wasn't the worst way to spend a morning, Christine thought. _And it's not taking that long, and what else would I be doing anyway?_

Suddenly, lightning lit the room in white. Christine gasped and looked up at the skylight. "Ooh…" The rain came down with an almighty crash. Her face turned in excitement to Erik.

Then the loudest thunder she'd ever heard smashed down around her, a cacophony from all angles. It was like a gunshot through her head. It shook the ground and thumped in her stomach. Christine shrieked and jumped, threw the filter up in the air. It landed on the counter and bounced a couple times before spinning off the edge. The thunder rolled down in volume, slowly stumbled out. Christine leaned against the counter, breathing hard, fingers gripping its edge.

"Wow," she breathlessly bent and picked up the filter. "Sorry. I've never heard thunder like that! Wow! Is it always that way?" she was smiling, unbidden, at him, and then up at the skylight. "Wow! That was so _cool!_" The rain thundered against the pane. "We don't get storms like this in Oregon. Can I go out in it? I just ruined my sample, anyway. I'm gonna go out in it. I'll be right back."

Her footsteps tapped down the stairs and he heard the door swing closed. Erik slowly walked across the balcony and down to the window where he'd first seen her standing. He pulled the curtain aside. Christine stood outside, spinning in the pouring rain, arms outstretched, face tilted back. She was laughing. Erik looked out over the red roofs beyond and began to laugh as well. He shook his head, laughing.

The door opened behind him and Christine burst in. "It was just like a shower! I mean, I thought I was used to rain, being in Oregon and all, but holy crap!"

Erik turned around. Her hair hung limp, loose purple t-shirt soaking and clinging to her torso. He could see the seams of the tank top she was wearing beneath. He began to laugh again and Christine looked up, startled. "What?"

She watched him for a moment. He had a dry, silent way of laughing, shoulders hunched and shaking. Christine grinned sheepishly. "I guess I'm easily entertained. Anyway," she sought to change the subject, suddenly uncomfortable. Too familiar. She pulled her wet hair back in a ponytail, "is your sample still okay? Let's do this thang." She started up the stairs. Erik followed, shaking his head.

"Alright," he shook his head again, a slight smile on his lips. "Now-" Lightning flashed again. Christine gazed up at the skylight expectantly. This time, when the thunder crashed, she closed her eyes with a little smile, seeming to soak it up. Erik watched her face; when Christine opened her eyes she surprised a longing expression that settled into blankness. "You have to-" Lightning flashed again. There was an electric sounding whir and then darkness and silence, interrupted by the pound of thunder. "Dammit."

"Did the power just go out?"

"A damn line probably got struck. Happens a lot," Erik muttered, hurrying over to the fridges at the back wall. He quickly flipped a switch on the box next to them and it whirred to life. He hurried over to the squat oven at the other wall and turned on the generator for it, too. "Well," he walked back toward her. "I don't have a generator for this, so it looks like we're done until they get that line fixed, which could take awhile. Sorry."

"There isn't some big generator for the entire center?" Christine asked, surprised.

"It goes by building," Erik replied. "I'm the only one who uses Middleton as a lab, so it doesn't have back up power."

"Shoot." Christine looked up at the ceiling. The room was even darker and the sky she could see was dark gray. The rain continued to pound.

"You can… stay here, until the rain stops, if you like," Erik swallowed.

"Oh, that's okay," Christine glanced over at him. "Thanks though." She slowly walked over to her backpack and slipped her notebook inside. She reached the top of the stairs and turned at smiled back at him. "Thanks for the help, Erik."

He nodded and watched her go. She slipped out the door and he stood, frozen.

On the first floor, Christine stood tentatively beside the door. Took a deep breath and stepped outside. The air temperature had dropped drastically—it was warm when she'd stood in the rain earlier, and now it was just uncomfortable, especially with her wet clothes. A breeze had picked up and blew the rain in slants. It fell so hard that it bounced off the pavement in a spray. Out across the parking lot, a river of water flowed where a shallow ditch had been, toward the storm drain. Christine leaned away, against the door, and then gave up and went back inside. _Maybe I'll just wait here until it ends… This can't last that long. And I don't want to get my notes wet. _She sat down on a bench and waited. _I could leave, really. I'll just go give Erik my notebook so it doesn't get ruined._

She jabbed the elevator button and waited. The doors opened and she stepped forward without looking and nearly ran right into Erik. "Oh!"

"Christine!" He shoved his hands in his pockets. "I'm glad you're still here, I was just gonna go get you. I feel really bad; I should've insisted you stay. It's not safe out. Just come back to the office."

"I—Oh, okay. I was just gonna give you my notebook before I left, but…"

"Just come back upstairs," Erik stepped into the elevator. "These things can last awhile."

"Okay…" Christine bit her lip and followed. Both stood awkwardly in silence, facing the doors, as the car lifted. "Well. Do you have a lot to get done today?"

"A bit," Erik looked toward her. "Not much I can do now." The doors opened. "Do you want some tea?"

"Sure," Christine said uncertainly. "But how are you going to…?"

"Heat it? Bunsen burners. They're finally good for something." Erik smiled, a flash of white in the dark hallway. His eyes were bright as he replied. Christine made a small smile back.

Back in the office, the rain was louder than it had seemed downstairs. Erik moved to the far end of the lower floor, slipping into the shadows at the corner of the room. Christine went over to the giant window and pulled the curtain to one side, holding it back with a chair. It helped a bit. "Why don't you ever keep this back?" she called to him. There was a bright flash in the back corner as Erik lit the gas burner. He set a kettle on a stand above it and turned around.

"It gets excruciatingly hot in here, usually." He stood beside her and both looked out.

"Oh," she said. "Of course. This is a pretty cool storm." She sensed him nod.

Uncomfortable, she slipped away and began to explore. The counters on the far side of the room were mostly covered in piles of papers, some handwritten, most typed. Christine lifted up a couple sheets and flipped them over. One seemed to feature the left profile of a skull, but the frontal facial structure seemed to have pieces missing from it, like there were holes in the bone. Christine held it up closer, squinting. It was an x-ray image, scanned onto the page, a page number at the top. The heading across from the page number read _Reconstruction of Cranial Bone through Bone Tissue Regeneration on Synthetic Scaffolds._ It was a page from a research publication.

Surreptitiously, Christine glanced over her shoulder at Erik. He still stood by the window, hands in pockets, figure erect. _What are you doing?_

She slowly, quietly folded the paper in half, then in half again, and shoved it in her back pocket. She glanced back at the side of his face she could see, the mask. The mask.

She didn't know why she did it. Maybe it was her confusion with him in general. It was probably some inner thirst to romanticize things, to pretend to be a fearless detective, to pretend that everything was bigger than it was. Christine felt water from her wet hair trickle down her back and shifted uncomfortably.

"Christine," Erik stood at a counter on the side of the room, pouring her tea. "Since we didn't finish this today, you'll have to come back Monday. And then-" he hesitated. Christine didn't notice, distracted by the stiffness on her left butt cheek from the paper. Erik turned around and her eyes jerked up. "I have quite a few samples that need to be run, so the DLS will be added to your list of responsibilities. Is that alright?"

"I… Sure, I gu-esssssss," Christine swallowed. _Not the weekend not the weekend. In fact, _no_. I'm telling him that._ "But it'll have to be during the week. I can't do weekends."

Erik looked down at his mug, swirled his tea. "Alright."

Christine was startled. "Oh, okay. Well, um, what will I be doing? And what time?"

Erik looked up. "Two to five weekdays. Unless there're no samples to run. Monday I'll finish training you."

_Well, I normally get out at two anyway… Now at least this internship'll be like an actual job._

"Will I be-" _alone with no one but you up here fifteen hours a week? No, you can't ask that!_

"Yes?"

"Nevermind. I'm assuming you'll walk me through it in the beginning? I really don't know what you want me to do."

"I'll explain more Monday when the machine's working. You'll basically be preparing and running samples and collecting data."

Christine tried to contain her groan. "Awesome," she said drily. "Can't wait."

"Ah," he studiously focused on a page of notes in front of him, "You'll be fine."

Christine sat cross-legged by the window, sipping her tea, for the next twenty minutes as the rain slowed to a tap. The room was quiet but for the occasional sweep of Erik's eraser or pencil scratch. Finally she stood, deposited the cup beside Erik's arm. His eyes slid over to her waist slowly. "I'm gonna head out. Thanks again."

"Goodbye, Christine."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Erik stood by the window, watching clouds shift over the red roofs in the distance, for a long time. It was an unusual queasiness to his stomach, his ribs, his lungs. Why was he doing these things? Why was he lying about this? He was being a creep.

Erik looked down at the pavement and pictured Christine spinning. He envied her freedom. His fingers lightly prodded the fabric of his mask. Erik went to the door and locked it, then slipped the stiff fabric off his face. He inhaled at the feel of air upon it.

He turned to face the window and saw the ghost of Christine sitting in front of it. This has to stop, his brain bit out. He pictured her wide green eyes when she found out he had made the whole thing up—there was no need for her to learn to use the DLS, Kelly had never talked to him, his sarcastic answer about desire for her company outside the concert had been true. Erik closed his eyes.

It's like I've lost control of my _self_, wisps of thought in his brain formed. I must find out more about her. Why does she talk the way she does? What is she doing right now?

Why am I so interested? Why do I enjoy arguing with someone who so clearly hates me?

His insides clenched, keeping something down, hidden in the dark away from his knowledge. Erik remained aware only of his confusion about Christine.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Christine peeled off her wet shorts when she got inside, pulled the crumpled page out of her back pocket. It was very damp, folds stuck together. Carefully, she stripped it apart. The image from the x-ray was bleeding ink and smeared. Desperately, Christine peered at the top of the page. The title was completely gone, a light blue smudge and the tops of a few letters all that remained. Christine groaned. _What was the name of that damn thing? Cranial bone tissue or bone tissue regrowth or what the hell? Shit. I'm never gonna find the right article online if I don't have the exact name. _

And try as she might, she could not.

Although she did find some good information about a new, experimental field called tissue engineering—apparently, certain tissues could be completely regrown, allowing for the potential regrowth of organs and bones—all through engineered cell growth on different materials, or "scaffolds". _Hmm. Backup knowledge._

_Stealth mode: take two. Beginning Monday._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Erik fell asleep on his balcony that night. The storm had passed into a warm, sticky evening, and he sat on the white tiles, watching the sunset paint the Mississippi and the sky above it pink and gold and purple and blue.

He laid back, hands under his head, and gazed at the sky when the stars came out, still easily visible in the city due to Baton Rouge's lack of activity. He awoke to the whine of a mosquito and numb hands at eleven p.m., back stiff, sore.

Slowly sitting up, Erik placed one hand against the glass railing. His fingers spread. The glass was warm and wet. With a jolt, his fingers curled, then slowly moved to his lap. He pictured Christine leaning against the balustrade, as she had before, but this time he came behind her and wrapped his arms around her and let his chin rest in the curve of her neck, her coppery hair pressed to his chest. Her head turned to the side and she kissed his cheek, and his imagination ached, burned in its vivid desperation, in the way he pulled back and looked at her, smiled, said something; she reached up and stroked his cheek. What was in her eyes? It was the open naiveté that was always there, mixed with a warmth, a pure happiness. Something else that was explained when she mouthed three words to him.

Erik pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. There is nothing I can do, his mind glinted. Look at what has happened! Never mind where it came from, you're drowning in its hold.

I must stop, he gasped to himself. This makes no sense. It is completely unreasonable. I don't even know her; I've barely been around her.

His imagination was hungry, though. Christine turned and wrapped her arms around him and he kissed her, lifted her, he could feel her bottom in his hands, her fingers widespread along his back. She was on his bed; eyes warm on his, as—

Erik opened his eyes wide. He stood hurriedly and went inside to the cool air, moisture gathering on his upper lip and chest. He did not look at his bed.

This is a new experience, he thought clinically as he leaned heavily upon the granite countertop in the kitchen. He watched his winded posture from a distance. You selfish creature—the sneer of his thoughts would not quiet—you never realized how little thought you gave to anyone else. This should not be a shock.

Why did you let her in your house? Nadir has only been here twice.

Why do you keep trying to be around her? You would not even give her a morning's peace, you awoke and went into that goddamn room to check on her, and when she wasn't there, you—

She must never know.

The relief, the flow of oxygen that was allowed to your brain when you saw her standing on the balcony, the elegant line of her shoulders as she stretched in the sun. And then she caught you, she goddamn caught you. Erik scraped his fingertips over his face in an agony of remembered embarrassment.

She must never know about that.

What happened? He asked himself desperately. She was nothing! Not even in my mind at all!

He knew it to be untrue, knew the silent lingering way his thoughts had returned to her after he'd first seen her in front of the window in his office, how he'd been shocked by her obstinacy on the drive to Kelly's.

Then he'd started his car after leaving Nadir's and heard the scream. He'd turned off the engine; slowly, silently standing and getting out. Following the image of shadowy figures lit in the streetlamp, he felt the cord of catgut in his hand. He hadn't wanted to use it, had by no means planned to, but it remained in his sleeve as usual.

She was a shaking figure, surrounded but still valiant, scrapes dribbling blood down her shins, that damn white helmet crooked, one arm outstretched. His steps had quickened with the bind and twist of his thoughts and then one bastard moved behind her, and she faltered, and his mind faltered, and the cord was pulling back on the man's neck, nearly to the ground.

He should have known then. When she turned to him, wary and grateful, he'd immediately released the lasso. Vengeance morphed into protection and that was all.

Erik took off his mask with careful control and watched his reflection shift uncomfortably on the smooth countertop for a long time.

She must not know. This is unreasonable and will pass. It was bound to happen eventually, he thought clinically. You must simply wait for it to pass like most people.

But wouldn't most people pursue it?

You are not them.

You should release her from this stupid busywork with the DLS. If anything, she'll take longer with it and mess up the tests.

No.

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><p>I lurrrrve reviews! Please let me know what I can fix! Thanks y'all!<p> 


	7. Chapter 7

****_A/N: Thank you all so much for the reviews! I'm sorry this took forever-I had finals and it was crazy hard to write. Pleeeease let me know what you all think of this one!_

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><p><strong>CH 7<strong>

Opposite the heavy oak table from Aaron, Christine sighed and slipped into a deeply padded desk chair. She swiveled back and forth slightly as she pulled her notebook from her bag.

"Who's presenting today?" She glanced over at Aaron.

"I think its Raoul finally," he answered. "Lazy shit's been taking forever to get this over with."

"I don't blame him," Christine laughed lightly. "I mean seriously, what is the _point_ of these presentations? Like why do we have to come? Dr. Kelly's the only one who cares."

"Well… The rest of us grad kids should care. I mean, it could relate to our projects in some fantastic way we don't already know… Though I doubt it."

"Exactly!" Christine exclaimed. "I mean you all work within ten effin' feet of each other, the only person not there every day is Kelly. This is just overkill."

Every Tuesday, someone from the lab had to give a presentation to everyone else about the current status of his or her project. Christine had figured it would be interesting, but lost in the minute details of each report she realized she had absolutely no idea what was going on and started to sink into the comfy back of her chair and fall asleep.

Methods were devised to stay awake. She found that if she tapped a tune on her leg, it kept it her somewhat alert, but one time Kelly had noted her droopy eyelids and fidgety fingers and leaned over and whisper-asked what her thoughts were on HPLC chromatography and Christine about asphyxiated from embarrassment.

Now she gulped down two cups of coffee and a cup of water. It was impossible to sleep with such a full bladder.

"I just hope I don't fall asleep during this one," she said.

Aaron grinned. "I'd kick you under the table when I noticed but the damn thing's too big."

Megan and two other guys from the lab walked into the room then and Christine fell silent. She opened her notebook and began to go through yesterday's notes. Today she needed to get images of her nanoparticles again, to check the silver coverage. She'd tried a different concentration of silver solution yesterday and hoped the coating would be thicker than usual.

The chairs around the table started to fill and Raoul came in and began to set up the projector.

Dr. Kelly came in, back turned and speaking to someone. He held the door open and Erik slipped in, the usual dark polo and jeans and harsh, severe masked face; Christine's head tilted in abrupt movement to her lap. Her back went rigid against the seat and she tried to slump to look more comfortable. Erik didn't seem to see her and she heard him murmur something to Kelly and Kelly's loud rumbling reply but not what it was, for some reason.

She glanced over at Erik and tried to catch his eye. Finally he looked up and seemed to lean back slightly; she smiled and mouthed, "Hey."

Erik blinked and then nodded curtly at her.

Uncertain, Christine looked down at the table as Raoul began his presentation. _Okay, do I not know you again? So formal._

To his credit, Erik had expected to see her there, felt her presence when he came in the door, and was studiously avoiding contact between his eyes and any part of her person until it was no longer possible. Her decision to say hello to him was surprising. He leaned back with the force of it, actually. The surprise.

Her expression was at the forefront of his mind the entire first half of Raoul's lecture. Whatever was said was silent as Erik snuck glancing views of Christine's nose, the shadow of her eyelashes, the sucked-in side of her cheek as she chewed the inside of it.

Her eyelids suddenly became downcast. Captivated, Erik watched as her eyes slid sideways in his direction, veiled, then opened to look at him. Erik couldn't look away but she did, quickly. Her shoulders turned in the direction of the projector screen and curved inwards and she hunched forward.

Erik looked down at the oak and felt his breath release and his stomach sink into a gulf, the lonely desperate ghostly reach of a hand out of the darkness before it, too, disappeared in the abyss. He closed his burning eyes and tried to focus on Raoul's presentation.

"So, based on the health of these skin cells and the generation rate on the scaffold, the current evidence suggests that other cell types could totally be grown on these," Raoul explained. "With your assistance, Dr. Kelly, I was gonna try the growth of mouse bone cartilage cells next, followed by the implantation of these scaffolds into the bone. Do you think that timescale is… um… feasible?"

Christine had become suddenly alert, Erik noted, eyes sliding from her to Raoul. She sat up very straight, then opened her notebook and began to write something down.

Dr. Kelly interrupted his thoughts. "Erik, how do you feel about assisting Raoul with this? Oh—sorry, y'all, this is Dr. Erik Troucheau, head of the bioengineering department. Bone regrowth is his major area of research, as most of you know, so that's why he's joining us today."

Christine watched Erik look down at the table for a moment and then turn to Kelly. "Yes," he replied slowly. "I might be able to do that. Raoul, let's talk later, yes?"

Raoul swallowed and nodded. "Yes, thank you, that would be great. Thanks."

The presentation ended and Christine slipped out, around Raoul and Erik and Kelly conversing in the hallway, hurrying down the stairs and down and down to the basement where the electron microscope was.

Erik turned with a breath to watch her sweep by; his inhale a gust in her ears.

There was an instant of recognition, swirling in electric impulses through Christine's mind, scattering stars through the dim as she raced down the hallway, past the gray fliers on the walls and the poorly lit labs. It was like pacing in deep water.

That's what it was.

_That article, the mask, or part of it—that skull with the missing bone is his. _

He _is the subject of this research. _Wait—No. _But in a way, yes. He's trying to fix himself._

_Oh my God. He's trying to fix himself._

Christine felt sick. She was too overwhelmed by this revelation to question her reaction to it.

The yearning, the motivation that must chafe in someone with such a deformity—she delicately brushed her fingers over her forehead, cheekbones, wondrous at the miracle of their solidness, their solid form for her muscles to stretch over.

_He's turned himself into a science experiment. _

_The hatred… So much self-hatred. How could you live with such a burning desire to change yourself? _

The dedication that would cause a person to educate themselves so fully, so quickly, at such a young age, in an experimental field, all to desperately hunt for some far away solution to a personal problem—a deformity. For that was surely what this was, surely Erik was an expert in external bone regrowth for his own benefit.

Christine felt moved and overwhelmed and sick and—_something_ with this discovery. It spoke of such desperation. She felt such agony in the desperation of it that she bent over and clutched her stomach in the dim hallway. _I must be wrong._

_What could've happened to him to make him so dedicated to fixing it? _

She remembered the scar on his arm.

_What kind of abuse makes you dedicate your life to fixing yourself? How could you live with such a gnawing, driving _need _to make yourself different? Oh my God, I think I'd die of self-hatred. _

_Oh my God._

_Other people must see this. I'm overreacting. Do they know what's beneath the mask? How could missing bone be that bad? I mean it's probably not that attractive but really, a mask seems like overkill—why didn't I think about this before? I just didn't really... think about it. _

_It's so obvious!_

_Wait, why is it such a big deal? I have things I dislike about myself… Not as dramatic, surely, but you learn to deal with them, I guess. And surely I can't be the only one who's come to this conclusion. _

_Why hasn't he just got plastic surgery if it bothers him so much? He doesn't seem to be hurting for the bucks._

_Maybe he's tried and it didn't work… Maybe it's a condition more than a deformity._

Christine felt as though every agony of her life had wrenched through her again, wrung her out; stomach twisted, she tried to take a breath. It felt as though his agony—agony she wasn't even sure he had—spread through her veins and congealed, oozing like black oil, until she was heavy with such despair she could not stand. She pictured her soul collapsing against the wall. _ I am unloved for no other reason than how I appear… I would cry of injustice but am too weak to fight._

She realized she was standing hunched over in the middle of the hallway, head between her knees.

_I have to think about this later._

Christine straightened and continued down the hallway. She made her samples in mechanical thoughtlessness and went into the microscopy room.

Liquid nitrogen hissed as she poured it into the funnel for the electron microscope. It overflowed and tapped down onto the counter, vaporizing instantly. Christine stood and went to the light switch and flicked it off and sat down in front of the little screen at the microscope. Big sigh for patience and a clear head.

There was a knock on the door. Christine stiffened. "Yeah? Come in."

"Christine."

"Yeah?" she looked up. A dark shadow in the doorway and his voice and who else could it be but Erik.

"I-" the shadow shifted. "Would you like to-"

"Yeah?" Christine swallowed. _I must not think of anything from earlier. It never happened. _At the back of her eardrums, she heard Erik say something. "Wait, what?"

"Would you like to learn to use the scanning electron microscope? It works a lot better than this one and I can teach you."

"Um, yeah!" she rubbed her goose-bumpy arms. "I've heard that one's a lot nicer, thank you!" Uncomfortably she looked down at the viewing screen of the microscope again. Erik continued to stand in the doorway and she wondered if he wanted to make conversation and why he wasn't if he wanted to, because she sure didn't, and wasn't going to try.

"Well," Erik shifted again. "There's no one using it right now, so I can teach you, if you like."

Christine swallowed down the grateful rise in her throat for Erik and his debatable willingness to teach her things. Happy to or not, he still had trained her more on the different machines than anyone else. The other grad students just left her to it like they could care less about what she spent her time doing. It was nice to feel like her abilities mattered, anyway.

"Thank you, so much, Erik," she said as she removed her samples from the microscope. "Really, I appreciate it."

Erik guiltily left the room and went next door.

If she knew your other motives she wouldn't be thanking you.

She won't know.

The room for the scanning electron microscope was small and dark, with three-quarters of it taken up by the microscope itself and the computer beside it.

Erik showed Christine how to prepare her samples, his voice quiet and calm, standing near her as she bent over the counter in the dim light and carefully pipetted things.

After he'd shown her how to insert her sample, he turned off the last light and they crowded in front of the computer. Erik silently began the computer program and Christine pressed her back as far as she could into the chair as his arm stretched across her for the mouse. She could feel the ridge of the counter against her spine.

The heat from Erik's arm was wondrous in the overly air-conditioned space and Christine felt the chill of her skin yearn towards it. She bit her lip as thoughts from earlier flashed past and then the silence of the room magnified and roared its intimacy. She looked down at the raised hair on his bare arm, the skin pale in the glow of the computer. She looked away.

The program began to load and Erik withdrew his arm slowly. Their knees were pointed towards each other, Christine's bare and Erik's clothed, bodies angled towards each other, and Erik glanced at Christine's face. Her fingers were laced together and pressed between her knees and Erik let his eyes slid up from her thighs to her face and saw the pink of a blush in the dim and looked down guiltily, but also desperately, for his own good.

Christine was aware of his eyes and also her thoughts from earlier and she just wanted to ask him, just ask why he had done all these things in the name of his own improvement, why he wore a mask, _why it disturbed her that so much work should be directed inward, _but between these thoughts she felt his eyes on her face and the overwhelming sense of his nearness and naively thought that he could sense what she was thinking, was disgusted by her idiocy and vanity in thinking she'd made some _monumental_ discovery or something. _Why is this even a big deal?_

_I guess because—_"What?"

Erik was pointing at the screen. "Do you see your sample there? That darker spot in the middle of the screen? Zoom in on it by clicking on that—no, down…"

Christine leaned in, distracted for a moment. "Wow…"

Millions of tiny little spheres, their surfaces rough in immaculate detail, dark, jagged silver formed in patches like some sharp metallic fungus, lay clumped like tiny man-made fish eggs. "That's incredible," Christine breathed. "How do they do that? That's all just a chemical reaction? How is it so… _small?"_

Erik leaned in, glancing from Christine to the microscope image. He watched Christine pan avidly around the screen.

"This makes it all worth it," she murmured. "This constant mix and repeat and wait shit. This makes it real. I can't believe something so small can actually accomplish anything… But I suppose that's ignorant of me." She turned to Erik.

"Thank you so much for showing me this, Erik! I don't know how I dealt with the other microscope all this time."

There was a moment of silence. Then: "When do you leave? For Oregon."

Christine glanced at him and stiffened imperceptibly. Eyes moved quickly back to the computer. He was very close. "I—"

He leaned forward. Eyes on her lips, he inhaled with her first word, gasping it in.

"I think the end of September."

He leaned back, "So you've got about three more months."

"Ye-esss…"

Erik gazed at the back wall now. Christine's eyes brushed the flesh-colored mask, searching to prove her theory right. "Why?"

"Mmm," Erik made a dismissive noise and stood. The moment fled blindly. Christine turned towards the door in her chair; suddenly desperate to catch whatever she was losing.

"When… Am I going to be—working with the DLS?"

"Oh…" Erik turned the doorknob and looked at the ground. "I don't know. Saturday. I'll contact you."

Christine swallowed.

_He knows._

In an irrational panic, she stood in a rush. The chair slammed into the computer.

"Whoa," Erik stepped towards the computer stand and held it to stop its shaking. "What was that for?"

"Sorry," Christine's eyes jerked up to him and she stepped back. The computer stand hit the back of her thighs.

She could feel his breath on her forehead.

She watched his Adams apple bob as he swallowed, stubble catch the light slightly. Her eyes slowly slid up to his, up the ridge of his mask down the center of his nose, finally to eyes golden and heavily lidded as they clung to hers.

"Well," Erik's voice was husky.

Christine exhaled shakily.

She realized she was scared. Terrified. He was so close. Her hands were loosely curled at her sides, damp, shaking, unsure what to do. She was afraid to move for touching him.

She is so beautiful.

Erik's hands shook as one ghosted around her waist; mesmerized at her nearness, at how she had not fled. His hand fisted in the fabric of her shirt. Christine's eyes were emerald in the dark, wide and shadowed in lashes, and her tongue darted out to nervously lick her lips and Erik leaned in further, mesmerized, caught, completely, and desperate, chest aching for some form of contact with her, anything to appease the longing, anything…

How does everything you do strike some point in me that makes every action seem completely perfectly, expressively, wondrously _you_?

Erik jerked Christine against him and she went with a quick inhale. Her fingers curled in the back of his shirt and could feel the warmth from his back. He was so close and there was an uncertain moment where she stood with her cheek pressed against his chest, tucked under his neck as he leaned his cheek on her golden hair.

But it wasn't enough and his head lifted and so did Christine's. He gazed into her eyes for a long time and breath held, Christine watched something blooming darkly in his, hungry and consuming.

Trepidation flared faintly in Christine's brain and she looked down, trying to decipher it, eyes veiled, but Erik missed the shift and his eyes devoured her dark eyelashes. His fingers pressed deeper into the small of her back and pulled her closer, as if she couldn't be close enough, would always be too far from him.

Christine looked up. Her hands rested lightly on his biceps and she could feel the coil in them; they were almost shaking with tension. Erik watched her watch him.

His other hand slid up her back, under the warm layer of her hair, and she felt his warm dry thumb caress her cheek and come to rest below her lower lip. He lifted her chin and she leaned into his palm, eyes closing. Behind her eyelids she could still see him watching her, the all-encompassing look in his eyes, so warm and so… Her heart was so full with the moment she felt it might capsize and sink and distribute throughout her whole body so that even her toes and fingertips felt emotion.

Erik's fingertips dug into her back.

Christine's eyes opened to see his drift shut and his head tilt and the trepidation was growing, growing. He was closer.

She felt his lips on hers in just the faintest touch; it could've even been his breath; he was moving so slowly it was though he wanted to savor every second with her.

Christine gasped at the pressure in her and Erik moved closer and her hand lifted, slowly.

She felt the edge of the cloth on her fingertips and Erik stopped moving. Neither of them breathed. Then it was lifting, Christine could feel skin against her nail as the edge of the mask was pinched in her fingers—

Erik thrust her back as desperately as he'd just been holding her and clapped a hand to his face.

Christine's heavily lidded eyes slowly opened and Erik's hand slowly lowered from his face. His eyes were on her in a way that made her want to double over in shameful agony. She did not want to witness someone else's hurt so clearly.

"You… I…"

"I'm sorry."

"I wasn't… I thought—"

"I'm so sorry."

Then, "I have to go." Christine darted by him, speed walking until she got to the main hallway, then she began to run, shame threatening to roil and spew out of her throat.

"Christine." She heard his steps behind her, speeding up. "Christine!"

"Christine!" he roared and she fled, knees aching with the first run since the crash, the dim hallway passing in a blur, and her hand was on the door to the staircase and she was pulling it open—

His hand caught her arm and spun her around. Gasping, Christine stared up into his angry yellow eyes, one shadowed and haunted and _floating_ in the hole of the mask and she leaned against the cold metal door at the all-consuming anger in his expression. She closed her eyes against the shame in her gut, the betrayal ricocheting in her body after that gaze.

"Christine," Erik growled, "What were you just going to do?"

"I—I'm so sorry."

"You're sorry? _You're_ sorry?" Erik released her arm and turned away. "Why did you do it?"

"Erik—Erik, I don't know, I wasn't thinking, oh God, I'm so _sorry…_"

"You weren't thinking," Erik spat curtly. "I guess that makes two of us."

The derisive regret in his voice made Christine's knees feel like buckling under the weight of her shame.

And another part, another thing that hurt equally as much; _He _wanted_ you. He was gonna _kiss_ you. Now you'll _never_ know. _

"Erik," Christine stepped towards him desperately, "I'm so sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. I just—I was wondering about the bone restructuring thing…" She quailed at the fire in his eyes as he turned to face her again. "And your research in it…" her voice trailed off.

Erik made a disgusted noise and shook his head. "You were thinking about _that_ right then? Don't bother, Christine." He turned to go.

"No!" Christine grabbed his arm. "Just let me…"

"Look," Erik snapped bitterly. "Don't fucking bother, okay? You saw an opportunity and you took it. I'm a real fucking mystery, huh? But there's a simple solution: just take off the mask, dehumanize the person, whatever you need."

"No," Christine whispered desperately. "That's not what I was thinking. That's not what-"

"Then what was it?" He leaned in. The rims of his golden irises were dark; Christine saw the darkness fading and correctly interpreted it as hope.

"I… I don't know," Christine shook her head frustratedly. "You just..." _What? Scared me? Made me think I was going out of my mind? Really scared me?_ "I don't know," she finished lamely.

Erik scoffed. He stepped around her and pushed the door open and left. The door shut with a sigh after him, flickering fluorescent lights continuing to paint the hallway gray-yellow. Christine leaned against the door for a long time, finally sinking to the ground, staring at the scab on her knee.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The rest of the week Christine replayed that moment with Erik over and over. First, it was just his anger, and she beat herself up repeatedly with how much she'd messed up.

Then, and more frequently, it was the time in the microscopy room. It was as though every action of his spoke volumes to her, and she'd close her eyes and picture what happened and feel as though he were speaking to her. As time went on, however, her memories became more and more frequently interrupted by her mind as it tried frantically to put into words the actions that had been so eloquent before.

_Why, why_, why _did you do it? _

What was really awful was that she didn't know. She could conjure a million different hypotheses but knew that none of them quite fit. There was one that kept hovering at the back of her mind but never fully formed…

Every time she relived that small, uncontrolled moment where Erik had jerked her against him, her eyes would unwittingly close and her lips turn up in both an expression of happiness and regret and frustration that the moment was nothing more than a memory. She found herself internally exclaiming "Stop!" whenever it started now.

And then his thumb on her chin… _God dammit._

Christine felt sweat drip down her temple as she biked to the tiny shoe store where the Old People Running Club met. It wasn't really called that, but she was younger than everyone else there by at least 15 years, so to her it might as well have been. _If I gain anything from this summer, it'll be excellent knowledge of how to keep myself in shape at thirty. _

She pulled up and a couple of them waved to her. "Where you been, girl?" Earl, the run leader on Fridays, asked. "You decide us geezers are aging you too soon?" Edwin, the oldest member of the group, chuckled dryly as Christine walked her bike to the porch at the back of the store, hidden from the street.

It was a warm knowledge to gain that they noticed she was gone and didn't think her weird for joining them. _Old people are more mature than these stupid young shits I hang out with… Wait. Duh._

Edwin stood with a grunt. He was tall, tan, skinny and wrinkly, seventy-five years old, and always drank a beer after the runs; a habit that seemed to be normal to Louisianans but Christine couldn't get over. It simultaneously cracked her up and disturbed her. "Good lord, girl!" he exclaimed, bending to peer at her knees. "What have you been doing instead of running with us?"

Christine grimaced. "Ahh… I took a tumble with my bike. We'll see how today goes, it was kinda infected for a while," she peered at her scabs too.

"Well," Edwin stood and shook his head. "Just run with me if it gets too bad. In fact, you can probably walk with me as I run if you want." He laughed.

A couple more people showed up until they had a good group of twenty and they took off in a bunch, led by Earl, slowly thinning with time.

Christine's knees twinged and she remembered Erik's smirk as he cleaned her cuts after that awful night. Her stomach flipped.

_I am such an idiot. _Why_ did I _do_ it?_

_But he _has _kind of been a dick to me, too… I mean, at the concert and… _

_Oh shut up. He's helped you more here than anyone else and you know it. And yeah, he's kinda rude at times, but you wouldn't do that to anyone else… You wouldn't just rip off someone's shirt or something. The mask is obviously not like a fucking _accessory_ or something. _

_And why right then? Why did I have to do it then? God…_

This was the only question Christine knew she had the answer to, but didn't want to acknowledge just yet. She swallowed hard and pushed it away.

The first time Christine had gone running in Lafayette she had never been so hot in her life; her face had felt like it was on fire by the first mile. Now she was used to it, though it was still unpleasant. Today it was annoying her more than usual.

Every time her right foot hit the pavement a dull ache ricocheted up to her knee and her shorts were digging into the scab on her hip. _Why am I even doing this? This is so pointless… Just pointless movement. I'm not even accomplishing anything._

There are always moments like this for runners, when they realize their sport is so self-focused as to be selfish, and with guilt already coiling in her stomach, Christine wanted more to curl up somewhere in private and think than be as exposed as she currently was. Her body felt heavy and slow and her pace began to decrease. _No, no, keep going…_

Her heart wasn't in it and she could find no reason to pretend otherwise. She dropped back even further until she was beside Edwin. "I'm gonna head back, okay? My knees are really killing me. Will you let the others know if they ask?"

Edwin nodded with a grunt, too out of breath for speech. His expression looked concerned though, and Christine added, "I'll see you tomorrow," before turning around.

She kept running until the group disappeared from sight and then slowed to a walk.

The sun was starting to set and the air was heavy and wet, the hum of cicadas building and fading from the trees and frogs singing from ponds. Occasionally other walkers and joggers passed. The neighborhood was filled with houses that were magnificent and old; Christine wanted to live in them and pretend their romance was hers, and she felt so lonely and lost suddenly that she wanted to cry from the hollow ache inside her.

"Hey," someone said, and she looked up.

"Hey…" she replied awkwardly, an obligatory nod and began to walk faster. The man who'd spoke to her was twenty-something feet away, walking a yellow lab, dark-skinned and fairly attractive-looking. Christine found her eyes narrowing as she tried to place where she'd seen him before.

"Nadir," the man said as he stopped in front of her, hand extended. "We met before but I completely don't blame you if you forgot my name."

"Oh!" Christine exclaimed, now remembering the nice man from the shitty house that helped her after the crash and feeling even more selfish and stupid that she'd forgotten someone she was indebted to. "Sorry, I was just… Zoning out. And sorry I never got a chance to thank you! Really, thank you so much. If you and Erik hadn't been there… God, I'm an idiot."

This last phrase was murmured bitterly as Christine stared at the ground. She didn't notice Nadir's frown.

"It was no trouble," he replied smoothly. "I'm sorry we had to meet in that way, but I'm glad you seem to be healing well," gesturing at her running clothes.

"Yeahhh…" she replied wryly. "Well. Thanks again." She made to keep going.

"How are you liking Louisiana?" Nadir pressed.

"Erm." Christine rocked back on one foot. "It's great. I really like it." _Hah._

"And you're an intern, right? Where Erik works."

"Yeah," Christine nodded brusquely. "Yep. That's what I'm doing."

"So do you work with Erik then?"

Now Christine sighed, no longer able to hide her impatience and discomfort. "No. Not really. I mean, Saturdays…" _Ah fuck. Do I still have to go to that tomorrow? _She stared at the ground for a moment, again unaware of Nadir's keen gaze. "Saturdays I do."

"Really," Nadir bent to scratch the dog behind its ears. "Well, you should tell him that's a stupid day to work."

Christine laughed uncertainly. "Yeah, I'm working on it…"

Eyes narrowed slightly, she felt like she was being studied and looked up at Nadir in time to see him struggle to mask a probing expression. Something rose up in her throat and she was suddenly desperate to spill everything that happened with Erik, ask Nadir's advice, just someone, anyone who might have an idea how she could fix something with someone whom she suspected it was difficult to fix things.

Nadir seemed to lean back, considering. He looked back down at the dog and ruffed its ears again. "Well, it was nice seeing you on better terms, Christine. Good luck with your research."

"Thanks." Christine swallowed. Nadir continued on and Christine slowly began to walk again, hip aching dully as she pulled the band of her shorts away from it.

Thoughtfully, Nadir watched the gnats swarming ahead of him. He thought Christine looked miserable. Less aware of her surroundings than the night he'd seen her at the concert, with shoulders burdened by something.

Erik had seemed the same way the last time he'd seen him… In fact, he'd seemed that way ever since Christine had started working in his lab. He'd returned from talking to her at the concert and Nadir had noticed he seemed to be simultaneously elated and distraught, nervously pacing from the bar to their table and back, fingers tapping restlessly; and constantly, constantly looking back to Christine. It made Nadir nervous that she hadn't turned to look back at Erik and left so quickly.

What did Erik do? He mused; and still mused, because he'd known better than to actually ask. Now he was reconsidering that decision.

It had been worse this week, though. Worse than usual. Wednesday Nadir had met Erik at a bar downtown, exuberant with news of the increased funding he'd received for his research, which meant an opportunity to travel to other neighborhoods around the south without balancing a forty-hour workweek.

Erik had merely nodded morosely, downed a glass of scotch, and rather drunkenly slumped in the booth. Peeved, Nadir asked, "What the hell, man? Could you pull yourself out of your pity party _du jour_ and at least _pretend_ to give a shit? God," Nadir set his beer down heavily.

"I'm sorry Nadir," Erik straightened uncomfortably. "I'm not very good company tonight. I'm going home."

"Seriously? Alright, yeah, fine, whatever. Fuck, thanks a lot."

Erik flinched slightly but was unmoved. "Congratulations."

They paid the tab and left in an awkward silence. Erik shut the door to his car abstractedly and neither said goodbye. Nadir hadn't spoke to him since, and was unconcerned, as things like this happened frequently with Erik—or so he'd thought. This might be different.

Nadir chewed his lip as he walked. As far as he knew, Erik hadn't given two shits about anyone other than Erik for—maybe ever. Not that he was completely selfish; he just hadn't become attached to anyone else; either from lack of interest of self-preservation or both. But now, that didn't seem to be the case.

And Nadir had a bad feeling that Erik's first attachment would not end well. And a worse premonition of Erik's ruination when it didn't.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Thank you all so much for the reviews! Seriously. Thank you!_

* * *

><p><strong>CH 8<strong>

It was with grim resolve that Christine awoke Saturday morning at seven a.m. and mixed a spoonful of instant coffee with cold tap water. There wasn't any ice, but she made do. She attempted to eat breakfast but was too nervous and instead wasted time in front of the mirror in her bathroom, leaning against the counter until she was closer and closer to the glass, watching her expression as she thought.

_Shit's gonna go down._

She walked purposefully to Erik's lab, mind blank. It was incredibly hot already, clouds hovering blackly at the edges of the sky.

Musty smell and cool air and the elevator rising, creaking in the silence of the empty building. The doors whished open and Christine strode down the dim hall. _What if he's not there?_

_…He'll be there._

She pushed the door open. A shift could be heard from the balcony, a creak of wood. Then steps, coming closer, and Christine stood in the middle of the lower area of Erik's office and watched the balcony as dust motes swirled in the sunlight until she saw Erik's outline at the banister, hands on his hips.

Both were silent for a moment.

Christine took in a deep breath.

She looked down at the ground, biting her lip, revising her plan, and started up the stairs.

In front of Erik she came to a stop. His expression was inscrutable, completely blank, eyes dark amber, and he looked down at her while she looked up at him.

"Okay," she said. "Before you do anything-" _Not like he hasn't had time to, _"just hear me out, okay?"

Erik did nothing. Expression still blank, his eyes flicked over her face.

"Um. Okay. Well, I just wanted to say that… That I really enjoy working with you, and I understand if you no longer want to work with me, but I really appreciate what you're teaching me, and I really value it, and…" Christine twisted her fingers, posture rigid, and swallowed to try and quell the unprofessional tremor in her voice. "And I am so, so sorry. I understand if you don't forgive me, but I just—I hope you know that I'm sorry."

She let her breath out shakily. Eyes flicked to the wood floor and then back up to Erik's, which had been looking over her shoulder the entire time. _Please don't ask me—_

"Why did you do it," his voice was low and flat, and now his eyes connected with hers, and Christine was shocked at the black fire there.

She swallowed.

"Does it really matter?" pleadingly.

Erik's jaw set and a muscle jumped in it and _that was the wrong thing to say _and his nostrils flared with his inhale. "Yes," he said quietly. "Yes, it does, given the _situation_ we were both in."

"I…" Christine paled. _How can I be honest and dishonest at the same time?_ "I had just been doing a lot of thinking earlier, and I was overwhelmed…" her voice dwindled to a whisper as Erik stepped closer.

"I see." His voice was dangerously even and seemed to hiss in her ears. "Please, enlighten me, what were you thinking about? That it caused you to act out in such a way?"

Christine felt herself quailing more with her shame and confusion about how to best answer him and suddenly frustrated, she stood up straight.

"Look, I'm sorry, alright? I don't know why I did it! I freaked out! But you know what, that was super unprofessional of you, too, and you have no right to try and intimidate some answer out of me now! It's over, it's done, I apologized, can we please move on? If you really disliked the whole situation so much, why are we _still_ talking about it?"

"Oh my God, Christine," Erik's voice was low.

"You think I disliked it?" his voice rose. "You think I haven't been thinking of it this whole week? You're driving me _insane_!"

Confused by this sudden shift, Christine bit her lip as Erik stepped towards her. "I just meant-"

"I _know_ what you meant," Erik's eyes were burning, his lashes ink. "I _can't_ just move on though. Believe me, if I could I would." He turned his back and went to the counter behind him, fingers tightly gripping its edge.

"Erik…"

"Just leave, Christine. You should go."

"No!" Christine's fingers curled into a fist. "No, I need your fucking help, dammit! You're the only person here who actually helps me do anything-"

Guilt curled like ash in Erik's stomach.

"—And I want to fix things and you're being a douche! I said I'm sorry! People make mistakes! I should've never done it, I'm sorry, but seriously, you've been dwelling on it all _week?_ God, that's _your _problem, I can't fix that, don't blame me!"

Erik slowly turned around and looked at her, eyes hooded now. "You think this is about the mask?" He stepped towards her. "I suppose it is, in part, but only because _that_ event explained what you really feel about me."

"I—What?" Christine threw her hands up in exasperation. "What is going on? What are you _talking_ about?"

Erik strode towards her and Christine reluctantly held her ground. He grasped her shoulders and his hands were rough and warm and twin jolts shot to her toes. "Christine," Erik murmured, an odd, considering look in his eyes, similar to the all-encompassing, wondering one he'd had in the microscopy room.

She looked up at him, hardly breathing, trying not to move under his touch, as he stepped closer to her. She was unable to tear her eyes from his.

"Christine… I-"

He gazed over her shoulder and seemed to sigh frustratedly. Christine watched him uncertainly and then glanced over his shoulder as she felt his eyes return to her.

Suddenly, his hand was on her chin, one finger lightly lifting it, and Christine looked up at him.

His head tilted and descended and then his mouth was on hers, tentative, then hungry, desperate, as his fingers spread along her back and pressed her to him tightly.

Shocked, Christine was but a human shell as she watched it all happen from somewhere above.

Then warmth crackled down to her toes as his mouth coaxed hers open, so hopefully, so longingly; and she was thrust back into herself and her arms twined tightly around his hard shoulders with a desperation that was beyond her knowledge as she kissed him with everything in her.

Every nerve ending sparked as his hands moved over her back, twined in her hair, fisted in her shirt; anything to bring her closer to him. He kissed her eyelids, her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, hands cupping her face, and his throaty groan as she threaded her fingers in his hair sent a thrill through her. He kissed down her cheek to her throat and let his tongue flick over her pulse, as if he wanted to love her life, worship the organ that kept her chained to earth and therefore near him.

Christine's hands were under his shirt, sliding along the curled sinew of his back, testing the ridges of his bones and muscle, every point at which they touched each other under so much pressure; as though they were one person barely separated into two.

Erik moaned as his lips returned to hers, one hand stroking her cheek, and he started to back her towards the wall behind her. In Christine's mind awareness sparked faintly like light in a dark room.

She felt the cool wall behind her as Erik's lips returned to her neck and one rough hand caressed it.

"Erik…" she gasped, reluctantly intent on stopping him. "Erik."

"Hmm," he sighed and fisted his hands in her hair and continued to kiss her. "God," he breathed reverently. All Christine's previous intentions were lost.

Erik lifted her against him and continued to kiss her hungrily, now with an open passion, gripping one thigh while pressing himself against her. He pulled back and gasped finally, face buried in her neck. "Christine."

He set her down and his arms tightened around her, everything clenched, as he though he feared releasing her were she to leave. With great reluctance, they then loosened. He sighed and rested his forehead against hers. They stood like that a long time, her breath sweet and quick against his lips.

"I love you," he whispered, and the room was silent but for thunder gathering in the distance.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Christine gently extricated herself from his grasp after a period of time, the room growing dark with the coming storm. Erik watched her stare down at the ground; shove her hands in her pockets, his eyes guardedly hopeful.

She looked up. There was something there, so complicated and intangible—it was almost fear, in her eyes and in the air. She swallowed.

"Erik…"

"No," he stepped forward, arms circling her again. "It's okay. Don't—don't say anything."

She looked up at him doubtfully.

"Really," he said. "Please. Just… Don't say anything." And he rested his cheek on her hair.

Christine closed her eyes tightly. Thoughts were flashes in her mind, too quick and too many to focus on, and the only one she could actually recognize was the most frequent and unfortunately it was that she vocalized. "What do you want?" Quietly.

"This." Erik pulled her closer to him. "This is all I want."

Both silently added, _for now._

They remained that way a long time, rain tapping down on the roof with uncharacteristic softness. Finally Erik pulled back and held her at arm's length, studied her face for a while with a thoughtful expression, yellow eyes roving hers.

"Well," he let his arms drop. "Lets do this DLS shit." He turned and went across the room and began to gather materials.

Christine stood in the same spot and watched him. _How can he—How can I…_

_—Do this now? What? What? I need to think, I need to go, I… Why is he acting so normal, was this not that big of a deal to him? He's fucking probably already over it, nothing means anything, I don't…_

Erik watched her across the room. Startled, she caught his gaze and moved over to the machine. They began to silently prepare samples.

Christine had finished four of the small test tubes in front of her when she glanced over at Erik. He was watching her again, pipette in shaking hand. Christine slowly straightened. "Erik, I-"

She stepped toward him and he to her and his arms circled her again and he kissed her again, disbelievingly, and Christine somewhat desperately now, searching for confirmation of something.

The door opened downstairs.

Both froze. Slowly, Erik pulled away, drawing Christine closer to his chest as he peered over her shoulder. The gesture caused her to clutch him tighter.

"Hey Erik?"

Christine visibly relaxed. Conversely, Erik's grip grew tenser. "Raoul," he called, and pressed his lips to Christine's temple and held her tightly before walking to the edge of the balcony. "Up here. I forgot you were training today."

Christine blushed and bent over the counter and began to prepare the rest of her samples. From downstairs she could hear murmurs between Erik and Raoul. She inhaled slow and long, until her lungs were full. Her head bent and slumped over her shoulders.

Thoughts curdled in her brain and settled down sickly in her stomach. _Oh, fuck._

The pipette chattered against the glass beaker. _Stop that shaking._

She was angry. Frustrated. Disappointed.

_I could've liked you but for you ruining it… No one really _loves_ when they just _want _to. And I'm sure that's fucking it; he's just some romantic idiot. I won't play along._

Christine was reluctantly certain that Erik, with the flair for the melodramatic she sensed in him, was more in love with the idea of love than he was actually in it. She suspected his desire to feel was stronger than his feelings for her or anyone else. And she was disappointed.

Because, to her, this implied such a lack of knowledge, such a lack of awareness; that one would attempt to falsify something simply impossible to fake. It indicated they underestimated love, themselves thus _less_ romantic than they thought. Which meant they misunderstood themselves as well.

_You seemed so sure. _Christine stared straight ahead, one hand gripping the skin above her hip. _I really thought you were beyond this sort of adolescent pretense._

_There is a place for wishful thinking, but this isn't it. _

If those three words were shallow, flippant, useful whenever one wanted, regardless of love's existence, then all the romantic dreams Christine had would be nothing. Meaningless. Because the love Christine longed for, the deep, consuming, mysterious black hole of everything and nothing, would be impossible—in its place only a shallow thing, surface-dwelling, incapable of the things expected of it.

That possibility was far too depressing. Christine ardently believed the opposite.

This certainty caused her to take instantly in distaste anyone thinking differently. She pitied their ignorance and bleak vision of beauty.

To Christine, there was no romanticizing love—it was either her form or it wasn't love at all.

All this she thought as she stared into the dim corners of the room. Her disappointment was keen. It ached. _You were the last person I would've thought… Oh, I should've known. _

The possibility that Erik could actually _love_ her, _love_-love her, wasn't even considered.

She wanted to rail at him, though, make him understand how wrong he was, how much he was limiting himself.

_But you can never do that. You can never teach people anything unless they want to learn. And this is probably only learned through experience, anyway…_

_The real clincher is the self-destructive thing in this._ Christine watched her fingers idly spin a test tube, eyes heavy lidded. _He _would_ want to make himself suffer unnecessarily. He would want to make it seem worthwhile when it wasn't. _Sadness has so much more weight that way.

Floorboards behind her creaked. Shoulders stiffened and straightened. The tips of her copper hair brushed the scabs on her elbows as she turned around.

"Hey," Raoul cleared his throat awkwardly. "Erik went out to get a couple samples from the lab downstairs—sorry if I startled you."

"Oh-!" Christine shook her head. "No, sorry, you're fine. I was just thinking… Yeah. Anyway. What's—um—he got you doing today?"

Raoul peered at her. She looked down at the counter. "I think he had some cartilage cells growing in a culture. What're you working on, though?"

"Oh, I'm just waiting now, actually. Kelly wanted me to learn to use the DLS and Erik's teaching me." She swallowed after saying Erik's name. The image of him kissing her flashed in her memory. His desperation rattled in her. _I…_

"Kelly thought you should learn to use it? Why?" Raoul looked surprised. "From what I've heard, that machine rarely gets used by anyone. That's why there's a technician for it."

Christine shrugged. "I dunno. I think part of it is so I can help Erik out with stuff."

Raoul's eyes narrowed. "Huh," thoughtfully.

Downstairs the door opened again. Christine stiffened and Raoul looked over his shoulder. "Well," he sighed, "I guess I'll go see what fun cellular stuff Erik has up his sleeve."

"Shoot!" Christine started. "Do you know how to start this machine first? He told me and I forgot and I don't want to ask again…" _Commence irrational fear?_

"Oh. Um," Raoul leaned across its front and Christine stepped back as his arm brushed her stomach. "It looks like its power's off, actually… There's a switch at the back—Here, you look for it on that end and I'll look over here." The machine stretched the length of the counter. Christine awkwardly leaned across it, slowly sliding her hand between its back and the wall. "It should feel just like a light switch, I think," Raoul grunted.

Christine began to laugh. "This is ridiculous." She sidestepped closer to Raoul, fingers still fumbling for the switch. Raoul chuckled.

"Welcome to the world of research. We poke around around with our asses in the air, looking for a button."

Christine grinned. Something gave under her fingers and the DLS whirred to life. She made a victorious whoop. _Oh, so you're trying to act unaffected now? Real mature._ Raoul laughed. "I am so-"

At the top of the stairs Erik stood watching them. His eyes were hooded and Christine suddenly felt guilty. And frustrated that she should feel guilty. And guilty and frustrated that she mistrusted his feelings for her and that he had feelings for her, respectively. _Aaand fuck this. Just fucking fuck it._

"Hey," she said. "You never even told me how to turn this damn thing on, ya douche," she flicked a finger at him. "Now what do I do?" _Casualty solves all things… Wait. No. Wrong word. Casual-ness?_

There was a moment where Erik watched her, where his eyes were lightening, still confused, but—

Then the hurt on his face lifted, dissipated, and the smile brought on simply by Christine calling him a "douche" was so wondrous somehow; she smiled back at him, elated also. She started to laugh and didn't know why lightness flowed in her.

Erik stepped towards her, mouth opening; then he glanced to at Raoul and it closed. His eyes still held a private warm look, shared with Christine, who smiled at him wistfully now. She was only aware of Erik; Raoul observed the way her face reacted and it went unnoted. Erik stepped closer and she looked down. He stood at her side, Christine conscious of his chest, black-clad as usual.

Erik placed one hand at the small of her back. He took one of her samples and uncapped it. "You filtered it?"

Christine nodded, stiff at his touch, skin thrilling with it.

"Okay," Erik stepped back, hand sliding away, prolonging contact. "Let me help Raoul for a minute."

_Shoot._ Christine's eyes slid over to Raoul. He was watching Erik and frowning. _Oh come on. _

Raoul straightened, hands deep in his pockets, and glanced over at Christine as Erik went downstairs. Eyes narrowed. Christine shrugged. Raoul crooked his head and shook it slightly, still frowning.

Christine felt foolish and ashamed and defiant at once. She straightened her shoulders and watched him go, posture stubborn. Inside, her nerves were shrunken and huddled, not outstretched, not waiting expectantly. Numb. She leaned against the counter and slowly let out her breath. _Oh…_ She relived Erik's kisses, movements, caresses, words. And again and again, not those three words, but _This. This is all I want. _

_This is all I want. _

_All I want._

You are _all I want._

_I will never be free. Never. Never. Never never never never…_

_Please..._

Erik reappeared and downstairs the door shut. Christine looked up with a start. Erik stood at the other end of the counter and began to adjust different controls on the DLS. Silently, Christine watched him for a while. _I am bowing under the affect of knowledge I don't want._

The next hour Erik helped Christine with the DLS. His murmured instructions, the light brush of his hands against hers, the sweep of his shoulder beside hers, as he found excuses to touch her. His small smile as she frowned at the computer screen in front of her, the pages and pages of data from two drops of her solution. She glanced over at him as he leaned on the counter beside her. _My body is hollow._

All Christine's emotions floated somewhere above her head. She felt neither desire nor disgust, but it wasn't apathy, either; it was a keen longing to be aware of her surroundings. Aware of Erik. All her brain held currently was awareness of the absolute dearth of knowledge it had of him, and it struggled to understand its own emptiness.

Erik looked up from the machine and caught her cautiously watching him. His lips quirked up, eyes smiling, quietly, happily. The mask was almost invisible. His golden eyes were so warm, so open, they seemed to see into her and receive the sight with awe.

Christine puzzled over his face, eyes narrow.

They stood silently a long time, Erik leaning one hip against the counter and Christine beside the computer, body angled away but face watching his.

"I…" _need to go._

"Do you-"

"What?" Both asked simultaneously.

"You go," Christine nodded.

"Do you…" Erik coughed. "Would you like to get dinner with me-" he cleared his throat again, "—sometime?"

"I…" Eyes wide, Christine rubbed the hem of her shorts between thumb and forefinger. "Um! Yeah. Sure. Definitely."

Erik let out a slow breath. "Okay," he stood up straighter. "Maybe even tonight? Or tomorrow if you're busy?"

"Ummm…" Christine suddenly became very absorbed with whatever information the computer was spewing. "Yeah," she looked back at him. "Tonight's fine, what time were you thinking?"

"Six? Or-"

"Yeah, that's fine." _Ahhhhwalskdjfalsjd! _Nerves sprang to life in Christine like engines. _Ohmygod ohmyGOD why am I so nervous right now what the _hell_…_

"Great," Erik smiled in relief. "I'll pick you up. We're kind of done for today, too, if you're ready to go…"

She left with only one backward glance, almost out the door. Erik stood beneath the skylight, head bowed.

She felt vaguely threatened.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dark clouds surrounded Lafayette by six that evening, a menacing ring beneath which the sun lazily peered. The rain had only let up briefly all day.

Erik's hands shook on the steering wheel as he pulled to a stop behind Christine's apartment. Inside his car was silent but for the occasional deep breaths he kept taking.

He waited until it was five minutes past—Nadir's helpful "Don't be an early fuck" nagging in his head. Then he stood, closed the door. His hands no longer shook and his shoulders straightened. He strode to Christine's door and knocked.

He heard the click as the knob turned and there she stood, again in that red dress. Her eyes were downcast as she searched for something in her bag. Erik watched the way her arms moved, her tan skin shadowed, the shift of her eyes under their lids.

She looked up with a small smile and surprised his observation. The smile slowly slid away as she recognized it, eyes widening and darkening. Erik stepped closer to her, breath catching. His hand was at her waist when her eyes cast down and away. His hand dropped.

Christine glanced up again, smiling but with serious eyes. "I think I forgot my phone. Just a sec. You can come in," she gestured behind her.

The apartment was very bare; the living room literally consisted of only a couch provided by the university. The overhead lamp was out and the flickering halogen light in the kitchen cast everything in yellow-gray.

Christine reappeared around the corner. Erik swallowed. Her hair and her dress flared in the gloom.

He wanted her with an ache.

Christine surreptitiously took in the way Erik looked at her as they walked to his car. He wore his usual dark jeans, this time with a dress jacket, and she was thankful she'd chosen the dress. The way he'd looked at her when she opened the door… _Stop._

Erik started the car and Christine pulled the door shut. An awkward silence ensued.

"So…" Christine began. "Where are we going?"

Erik glanced over. "There's this place near the Mississippi that's pretty good—Lagniappe. Have you heard of it?"

Christine shook her head. "Is that French?"

"It's Creole. It means 'something extra'."

"Hmm." Christine cast about for something to say. "So… Do you speak French, being from Louisiana?"

"Yeah," Erik nodded, eyes on the road as he turned onto the freeway.

"Sweet! Say something French!"

Erik rolled his eyes and gave her an exasperated look. "Really?"

"Meh meh meh, I'm Erik, I know French but I'm too shy to show it off," Christine mocked, laughing. He glanced at her sharply but, recognizing her teasing, his lips quirked.

"Christine est très belle, mais plus agaçante."*

"Ooh, I know part of what you said," Christine poked his arm.

"Do you?" Erik continued to smirk, glancing at her more frequently now.

"What was the other part?"

Erik shrugged, forehead crinkled in exaggerated confusion. "Damn… I think I forgot." He grinned.

"You did not! Tell meeee," Christine sing-songed. "Or I'll bug you all night about it and you'll absolutely regret ever having dinner with me."

"Improbable," Erik replied huskily.

Slow goose bumps rose along Christine's skin. She tucked her hands under her thighs as they clenched at his voice. _Sometimes…_

She swallowed and tried to say lightly, "What does that mean? Unless you've forgotten already, old man." She swallowed again and looked out the window for a period.

"Nothing," Erik shrugged carelessly, but Christine could tell he'd registered her withdrawal.

She couldn't help it. She still felt oddly shaken by the caressing turn to his voice. Out of control. She was suddenly aware again that he wanted her.

It was both terrifying and thrilling.

"So…" Erik glanced her way again as he took the Baton Rouge exit. "How's your whole apartment situation going? Are you still sleeping on a vinyl mattress?"

"Oh!" Christine was startled that he'd remembered. "Um. Yeah, unfortunately…" sheepishly. "But I think I'm adjusting pretty well. I'll probably have to replace my bed at home with it or something, I'll end up unable to sleep without it…"

Erik stiffened and focused intently on the road at her mention of home. Christine noted it and looked away, uncertain, then continued awkwardly. "But yeah, the apartment's really lacking…"

"It looks like an insane asylum in there," Erik recovered drily. "Couldn't you at least replace a couple light bulbs? I thought I'd been welcomed into a cave."

"Pssh," Christine scoffed. "I was just taking decoration tips from your 'office'."

The smirk was back. "Hmm. Poor effort."

"Yeah, I guess I didn't copy the whole _huge mess_ part."

Erik began to laugh, that dry, silent way of his. His shoulders shook as he turned down a street bordered in old buildings, immense violet flowering baskets hanging from streetlamps.

Hey, I don't have a car!" Christine added indignantly. "Don't be hatin'. Plus, it's always so damn cold in there; I don't really stay long."

Erik shook his head. He pulled to a stop in front of an old, oak building; it looked like it used to be an old house. Ivy crept up its high walls. Multiple clay pots overflowed with petunias on its porch, some creeping across the wooden slats. Tiny white lights were strung along the gutters. It sat right beside the levy, lofty enough that Christine was sure the Mississippi could be seen from the top. On the other side of the building railroad tracks lay and she wondered if they were still in use.

She glanced over at Erik as he unbuckled his seatbelt and awkwardly did the same. He stepped out and so did she, the wet air hitting her as it always did, mixed with the scent of the river and fried food, garlic and butter and flowers. The warmth was loosening after the air conditioning in Erik's car.

They walked up the steps and paused on the porch, boards creaking under their feet, faint music coming from inside. Erik opened the door for her. He ushered her in, hand floating just above her back.

_Here we go._

* * *

><p><em>* "Christine is very beautiful, but even more annoying." (<em>_Thanks to Vu par un Ange for help with the French translation)!_

_ Please let me know what you think!_


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Huge thanks for all of the reviews. _

* * *

><p><strong>CH 9<strong>

The restaurant was dimly lit, warm, and smelled faintly of the old wood it was made of and Cajun food. The first floor seemed to consist of only the kitchen; sizzles and clangs emitted from down the dark hall. A steep oak staircase rose to the right of the main door, pastel paper lanterns hanging from its banisters. Christine and Erik followed a bored-looking teenage hostess up the stairs. Self-consciously, Christine held the hem of her dress against her thighs to ensure no one saw up it.

They emerged from the stairway and Christine paused two steps down. Behind her, Erik watched the light dawning from over her shoulder, the edge of her skin haloed.

The top half of the restaurant was a wide, open space, the far wall paneled entirely in glass; a giant window. It jutted out on the levy, one half opening to a screened deck that reached even further to the river. The far wall faced the sunset and the room was lit in golden light. Round tables with white tablecloths dotted the uneven oak floor.

"Do you like it?" Erik murmured over Christine's shoulder.

"Yes," she breathed. "Really." She slowly went up the last two steps.

Their hostess stood impatiently waiting. She huffed a sigh and led them across the room, through a glass door and to a table at the edge of the screened deck. More petunia-filled baskets hung outside the screen, sweetly perfuming the air and mixing with the scent of the river. Christine gazed around as Erik pulled out her chair. She sat slowly; almost unaware the seat had even moved. Erik sat across from her. The hostess set down menus and left.

"This is so _cool!_" Christine leaned forward enthusiastically as she spread her napkin across her lap, then peered over the deck-railing, nose to the screen, and watched the Mississippi sluggishly slide forty feet below. "Erik," she smiled up at him, eyes wide and earnest, "this is _so_ cool. How did you find this place?"

His grin grew as he watched her expressions change. "Well, I do live here."

"Pssh," Christine rolled her eyes. "You just _sense_ these awesome original places, right. I forgot."

"Actually," he squinted across the Mississippi, "I used to work here. It was a tavern during the civil war. In fact, the owner swears it's haunted."

"Really?" Christine leaned in again excitedly, eyes darting over Erik's face for some sign of a joke. "Don't make fun of me; I love supernatural stuff. I totally believe in it. Is it really? Are you serious?"

"Yeah," Erik nodded earnestly. "I'll give you a tour later. There's this cellar downstairs that union soldiers used as a hospital when they occupied Baton Rouge. It's pretty interesting."

"Wow," Christine murmured. "You worked here though? I can't see you as a waiter." She laughed.

Erik gave a small smile and looked down at his menu. He reached across the table and twined one of her fingers between his. She looked up slowly, finger unconsciously curling around. Erik's eyes lifted; watched their hands.

A waitress bustled to a halt at their table, a short, motherly woman, who pinched Erik's arm and demanded to know where he'd been.

"You! Tell Antoinette hello from me! And get to her to move those creaky old bones out of Lafayette for once; I'm damn _tired_ of always being the one to visit her. You know, she might be older but she's even lazier. You tell her that from me. You hear?" The waitress shook her poofy graying hair and wiped her brow. "Whew."

Erik nodded, chuckling. "I'll try."

"And who is this? Where _are_ your manners, young man? Lord, I'm so aggravated." The waitress turned to Christine and extended a hand commandingly. "I'm Bernadette, but call me Bernie. Is he being nice to you?" She turned to Erik and said lower, "Well done, Erik; she's gorgeous."

"Well," she huffed without waiting for a reply, stepped back, and peered at both. "Are you two ready to order? Maybe some drinks? Hmm?"

"Um," Christine opened and closed her mouth, uncertainly glancing from Erik to Bernie. He was gazing at Bernie exasperatedly.

"_What?_ I'm doing my job, you," Bernie shook her notepad at Erik. "Dear, can I get you anything? Mint julep? Tom Collins?" she peered at Christine intently.

"Oh—I'm not twenty-one-"

"Tschh!" Bernie made a 'close your mouth' gesture with her fingers. "Erik will just have to answer for that one, then. Now what'll it be?" She leaned in to Christine conspiratorially. "Don't you let him get too quiet now, dear. Or too testy. He does that." She nodded at Erik. "You know you do, don't look at me like that."

"Oh—um…" Christine glanced sheepishly at Erik, uncertain whether to smile or cringe. He was reluctantly laughing and shaking his head.

"It's fine, Christine. Go ahead. Are you really going to do this, Bern? Don't you have enough fun hassling the other customers?"

Bernie chuckled darkly. "Hon, I don't know what you're talking about. You're not embarrassed of me, are you?" she mock-gasped. "You see how he treats me?" she shook her head at Christine. "No, no, he's a dear boy. Now what'll it be, love?"

"Um. I'll have a mint julep, I guess? Are those good?"

"You bet! Erik?"

"Whichever beer's on tap, Bern. Thanks."

She nodded and paused, giving them both an affectionate look before hurrying off.

"Whoa," Christine leaned back and raised her eyebrows at Erik. He laughed and rolled his eyes.

"Bern's Antoinette Giry's younger sister. You've met Antoinette, right?" Christine nodded, now recollecting why so many of Bernie's mannerisms seemed familiar. "I've… known… their family a long time." Erik looked out on the river. His expression mingled the embarrassed laughter previously on it with a faint pain. "Sorry about that," he shook it away. "She's kind of a whirlwind. But then, if you've met Antoinette, maybe it's less shocking."

"Yeah," Christine laughed, "Well." _I'm missing something, but… I'm not sure I care to know._

There was an awkward pause. "So," Erik leaned forward.

The sun hit his eyes in a way that made them gleam gold; deep and rich like pools, flickering with different colors at each blink. Christine unconsciously leaned towards him. His shoulders were broad, forearms folded across the table, and the gray collared shirt he wore was unbuttoned low enough for a few dark chest hairs to show. His black hair was slightly disheveled on top with the heat. Christine remembered his arms around her with a jolt, the coolness of her back pressed to the wall, his soft hair between her fingers, and _Oh…_

His eyes were caressing again, encompassing, wondering, as if he were content just to be close to her; but could also hardly believe how close she was. _Cherishing. That's what it is._

_Am I vain? Am I making it up? I—_

Their drinks arrived and Christine grabbed hers and gulped it. She promptly choked and coughed.

Erik sipped his beer mildly and his visible brow rose. "Stronger than you expected?"

"Yes," Christine gagged, making a face. "Wow. Yeah. You Louisianans like your drinks _powerful_. Whew, that's a lot of whiskey."

"Don't you go getting drunk on me now," Erik warned.

"Yeah," Christine took a sip of water. "I'll try. Good lord."

Erik was smirking now as Christine felt alcohol fumes haze inside her brain. _Your smirk is—_

She tried another sip of her mint julep. _Finish that thought later. Please. Later later later—_

_It's sexy. It is. He is. So what? He is._

_I think you just use alcohol as a placebo to acknowledge what you already know,_ Christine's thoughts circled critically.

_But really. You're attracted to him, aren't you? You are. You are! Oh, why did I just figure this out right now? _Christine thought despairingly as she watched Erik's profile gaze across the Mississippi. _Now I'm not going to be able to be normal, everything will make me nervous, oh, shit…_

_Love bullshit aside, you now have the capacity to be hurt as well._

_Damn it._

She took another sip.

Erik reached across the table again and hooked his pointer finger around hers. A jolt shot through Christine. Every neuron stretched up, yearned, feeling his warm, rough, skin, shocking in flares when it moved.

"So… How did you end up in Louisiana, anyway?" Erik watched her and stroked her finger with his thumb.

"Well," Christine glanced down. "It was actually the only internship that accepted me," she laughed sheepishly. "I only applied a couple places though."

"So we were your last choice?"

"What? No," Christine poked his finger with her thumb. "Well," she grinned, "Kinda." She laughed at Erik's insulted expression.

"Pssh, you northerners, you think you're better than everyone," Erik scoffed. "Little do you know…"

"'Little do we know' what? That we really are better?"

"Said the girl who probably _still_ doesn't know what 'DLS' stands for."

"Hey," Christine pointed at him with her free hand. "I talked to other people in Kelly's lab and they don't either! They don't know how to use it at all, in fact. And I totally do know what it means. It stands for Douchey—er, Limit… Scanning."

"It does not."

"Oh, you've never heard of it? I guess I'll have to teach you. Come in on your weekends, maybe six a.m.?"

"Alright, alright," Erik laughed, hands up in defeat. "I'm sorry I insulted the yanks, I surrender!"

Christine laughed as Bernadette arrived again and took their orders.

The rest of the meal passed in comfortable conversation, and it was dark and the deck empty before either realized how late it was. Christine was on her third drink and feeling rather buzzed and Erik seemed to be similarly intoxicated as they both looked up and about.

"Shit," Erik looked around. "I guess we better go, they're probably ready to kick us out if we don't."

Twinkle lights had lit around the deck and dim lamps hung from the ceiling. Across the Mississippi, a barge drifted, its lanterns faint yellow orbs.

Both stood slowly and pushed in their chairs. Erik came to stand in front of Christine and paused and gazed down at her. Then he looked away, a small smile on his lips, and put one arm around her waist and out they went.

Downstairs, Erik paid, Christine awkwardly thanking him. They were almost to the door when she stopped. "Wait! Can we go to the cellar? For the ghosts? Please…?"

Erik sighed and rolled his eyes in mock annoyance. "Alright, I suppose…"

"Yes! Excellent!"

Erik spun her around, arm still at her waist. "Marguerite, do you mind if we do some exploring?"

The bored-looking hostess glanced up from her phone. "Nope. It's whatever."

"Come this way," Erik led Christine down the hall and through the kitchen, which was empty but for the cook mopping the floor. "Hey Jared," Erik nodded.

"They mostly use the cellar for beer and wine now, but other than that, it's hardly been changed," Erik murmured as they went down another dim hallway outside the kitchen. "Everything else has been remodeled." He pulled open an aged door, complete with old-fashioned doorknob. Concrete stairs dipped darkly into the abyss and a gust of cool air rose up to meet them. "You first," Erik gestured.

Christine rummaged in her purse for her phone and turned it on to light their way down. The door slammed behind them. "This is creepy," she whispered. Erik chuckled sinisterly.

They reached the bottom and Erik brushed one hand along the wall until he found a cord. A single bare bulb blinked to light. The cellar extended much further than Christine expected; kegs and wine racks stood immediately beside the wall with the light, but the room was otherwise empty and faded to darkness at its far corners. Wooden supports were placed intermittently throughout, the concrete floor rocky and uneven. The air was moist and cold and smelled of age and mildew.

"This was a hospital?" Christine whispered.

"Yeah," Erik whisper-replied. "In some places, you can still see the blood on the floor."

"Wow," Christine breathed. "That's so fascinating. I just—what an awful place for a hospital." She ventured to the center of the room. "It's just so _fascinating,_ though—to think of people's lives then, and now here _we_ are, in the same place they walked and lived and…" _died._

"Hmm." Erik came to stand beside her. For a while, both contemplated in silence.

In a far corner of the room, there was a shift. Then a ghostly voice murmured, "Christine…"

She froze. Slowly she turned to Erik, who looked solemn. Motionless, she stood, every sense alert.

All was silent but for the hum of blood in her ears. Then, from the opposite corner, a whisper: "Christine…"

"Did you hear that?" she breathed to Erik. "Oh my God, Erik, did you?"

He leaned forward seriously, hands in his pockets. "I think I heard something," he whispered.

"You have something to do with this, I know you do," Christine hissed, still frozen. She attempted to stand up straighter and her sandals scraped on the ground and directly behind her, the voice wailed.

"Christine…!"

She shrieked and jumped and grabbed Erik's forearm so tightly she could've cut off blood circulation. He started at her touch but then threw back his head and laughed and laughed, wrapping his arms around Christine and pulling her tightly to him. She folded her arms but buried her face in his chest, punching him now and then.

"What did you do? How did you do that? You rat bastard! Is someone else in here? God, I hate you, I should've _known_! How did you _do_ that?"

Erik sighed and leaned his cheek on her hair and held her close. "Ah, you should've seen your face! That was priceless," he laughed again. "Ahh."

"How did you do it? Urgh. You suck! I should've _known_ you'd do something like this, you doucher!"

"Do what?" Erik threw his voice to the far corner of the room, lips unmoving. "I didn't do anything," his voice murmured right inside her ear.

"Ooh," Christine squinted up at him, unconsciously scrunching her neck and scratching her ear. "That would be impressive if you hadn't just scared the shit out of me. It _is_ pretty cool, though," she admitted grudgingly. "But you better believe I'm gonna get revenge on you."

"I'll be living in fear," Erik looked down at her with a smirk. She gazed up at him for a moment, arms tight around his waist now, then looked away.

"Let's get out of here." Christine led the way up the stairs and Erik wrapped an arm around her shoulders as they went to his car.

He chuckled again darkly. "I still can't believe you fell for that… 'Yeah, let's go to the cellar, its haunted and the ghost of some eighteenth-century soul just happens to know your name…' You deserve to be scared if you're that gullible."

"Hey!" Christine plopped onto the front seat indignantly. "I'm sorry I'm not as cynical as you, oh practical one. How was I supposed to expect you're some crazy ventriloquist? And you never know, maybe ghosts are all-knowing or something and sense people's names. I dunno, it could happen. Pssh."

Erik shook his head and laughed as he started the car. "Alright," he pulled out of the lot. "Are you ready to go home or do you want to watch a movie at my place?"

_You should go home,_ sober Christine recommended. _You've spent enough time with him. Don't do this all at once. He'll…_

_He'll get tired of you._

Intoxicated Christine shrugged, turned to Erik, her head on the headrest, and grinned. "Sure," she said with false nonchalance. Both sober and intoxicated Christine experienced a thrill of trepidation and excitement. _What the hell. You only live once, right? Plus, you're leaving here in three months._

Erik smiled and glanced over at her. "Okay. I'll try to find something without ghosts in it."

"Hey now," Christine sat up straighter, "I was _disappointed_ that was just you down there. You probably scared all the ghosts _away_—if it hadn't been for you, I'd be down in that cellar with six new buddies right now. Jeez."

He laughed. "You sure didn't seem that excited about making 'ghost friends' at the time."

"Oh," Christine scoffed as Erik pulled into the parking garage beside his condo. As they walked to the elevator, the air suddenly felt stiffer, more awkward. Erik didn't put his arm around her. _Uh oh. I'm too sober for this. _

Erik unlocked the front door and a gust of cool ventilation hit them. The living room looked the same as Christine remembered; only slightly more detailed now, and she realized she was less comfortable entering it this time than she had been after the crash.

"Go ahead and sit down," Erik gestured at the couch. "Do you want anything to drink?"

"Umm…" _Yes, actually, I have the urge to get rip-roaring drunk and do whatever I want and deal with absolutely none of the nerves I have right now and—Fuck. _

_Oops. No. Not like that._

_Stop talking to yourself!_

Erik was watching her quizzically. "Oh-kay…" visible eyebrow raised. "Well. I'm going to grab a beer, if you want one."

"Yes! Please." She slowly sank onto the couch.

Erik reappeared after a moment and handed her a bottle and sat beside her. Christine tensely sucked in her stomach, feeling the brush of Erik's jacket against her arm; he was so close; the distance between them was small enough to be hugely noticeable, it was so—Deliberate. Christine sucked down a gulp of beer and tried not to grimace. _Fucking awkwardness. And fucking _beer_._

"So," he reached for the remote. "Have you seen _North by Northwest_?"

Christine nodded avidly. "Have you? I love that movie! Hitchcock's one of my favorites."

"Damn!" Erik grinned at her. The caressing look was back. "I was trying to impress you with my movie knowledge but you foiled me. Alright, what about _Vertigo_?"

"Ooh," Christine shook her head. "I've always wanted to see that one and somehow never have. Do you have it?"

"I do," Erik scrolled through a list of movies on the screen until he found it. "You'll like it," he wrapped an arm around her. Christine's skin thrilled and her stomach flipped and she felt relieved at once.

They were silent for a bit after it started, until Alfred Hitchcock's cameo at which Christine pointed. "Found him!"

Erik chuckled and they were quiet another half hour, Erik's fingers occasionally brushing along Christine's shoulder. She leaned her head upon his shoulder after a time and he rested his cheek on her hair briefly. Then he stood. "Another beer?"

"Mmm, yes please," Christine held out her empty to him. "Thanks."

Erik returned and they sat with sides pressed together. Christine was halfway through her second beer when she said aloud, "Dude. I'm kinda drunk right now."

Laughing, Erik sighed. "Yeah. I am too."

"Well, I'm glad I'm not the only one," Christine swigged her beer. "Damn. I do _not_ like beer."

"What! Give me that. You're killin' me. You could've had something else."

"Aww," Christine slumped her head on his shoulder. "You didn't tell me _that_."

"You're a pain."

"No, no," Christine waved him away. "Hey. Can we go out on your deck? Ooh. We _should_. I bet it's so pretty out right now!" she stood unsteadily and peered down at him. "Pause this shit. I know it's going to get sad and I don't _want_ to be sad."

"Yes ma'am," Erik stood. "Lead the way, bossy."

She swaggered down the hallway and through Erik's room, pulling the curtain aside and stepping out to the edge of the balcony, leaning against the railing. She stood there, burnished hair down her back, red dress to her knees and barefoot, in the quiet wet air. Erik stood just outside the doorway. One hand fisted tightly as he watched her, nails dull against his palm.

Christine turned around playfully to call him forward but saw his face and stilled. She hastily turned back to gaze over the city, sobered but not, because her thoughts were dizzy in an alcoholic haze. She was suddenly, painfully aware. All was not light and easy. She was afraid. There were feelings in this, and a large capacity to hurt, and Christine was suddenly conscious of the effect of that hurt, the way it would look, the things it would do…

Erik's eyes had been fire. Consuming. What had been meaningless flirtation was suddenly so, so naïve and insensitive on her part.

Slowly, Christine turned as she sensed someone beside her. Slowly, her eyes lifted. Erik stood, expression focused on hers, the mask harsh and blank. His eyes burned and Christine was captivated. Dark stubble dotted his chin and jaw, his hair lifting slightly in the breeze, and for a second his lips trembled. Then he crushed her to him and kissed her.

All was stars. This was like nothing, nothing before. Christine clutched his shoulders as his mouth bruised hers; his long fingers stretched over her back, close, close to him, his smooth rich hair between her fingers. Erik lifted her without warning and she gave a little gasp and he carried her into his room and set her on the bed, slowly lying on top of her, chest pressed to chest, heart to heart. "Oh God," he groaned, lips reverent along her arched neck. "Christine."

"Erik," she sighed. "Erik."

"Christine," Erik slowly kissed down her chest to the top of her dress, laving her clavicle with his tongue, kissing her shoulders and pushing the straps of her dress to the side. "Oh, Christine, I've dreamt of this since…" He gasped into the hollow of her neck. "Since you crashed and stayed the night, since I saw you at that concert, since…"

She pulled him up and kissed him hungrily on the mouth, tugging off his suit jacket and throwing it on the floor. She bit his earlobe and he moaned and fell to kissing her desperately. "Christine," Erik pulled back, resting on his elbows and breathing hard.

"Hmm," her eyes slowly opened.

"Promise me. Promise me that you'll-" Erik swallowed. "That you'll stay in touch with me when you leave. Promise."

"Erik…" Christine sighed, eyes closing.

"Or…" he buried his face in her neck. "I'll keep you here," he murmured against her skin, voice gravelly. "I'll never let you leave." His arms wrapped around her and he rolled over, pulling her to face him as both lay on their sides. "I mean it."

"Erik…" Christine rested her cheek on her hands. "Aren't we supposed to be making out right now?"

"Yes. But-"

"Here's an idea," Christine murmured. "Stop trying to plan everything. This isn't a conference." She wrapped her arms around him and forcibly kissed him, rolling on top.

Erik groaned and grabbed her thighs and pulled them around his hips. After a time, he wrested his lips away. Christine began kissing his neck, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. "God! Christine!" Erik caught her hands in his and held them tight. "Tell me," he gazed up at her.

It was a powerful feeling, to be this wanted, to have this much control, but Christine could also tell from her trembling fingers and thrilling heart that it was uncertain where her control ended and his began. "What?" she breathed.

"You know what."

"Yes, alright, fine," Christine agreed exasperatedly. Erik rolled on top of her and pinioned her hands above her head and kissed her in a languishing way, until she was breathless and arched against him.

"I love you, Christine," he said fiercely, staring into her eyes. "I know you don't believe me and you think I'm being dramatic or some shit and you think I'm wrong but you're still here, and I'll _make_ you know it. _That's_ what I want. I _love_ you." And Erik kissed her breathless, lips burning against hers, tongue demanding to taste every inch of her, fingers widespread along her back. Christine's fingertips dug into the muscles of his back and she kissed him with a fervor not fully understood. His words settled at the back of her brain like stones in a lake.

_You don't even know me._

Sometimes, when Christine was drunk enough, and stupid enough, and bored enough—or maybe just drunk enough, and the latter conditions just resulted in the former—math equations popped into her head, repeating endlessly, impossible to recognize but equally impossible to ignore. She would keep trying to solve for X while her body engaged in something else. Usually, music played as well, and it was enough to make a person crazy.

Christine's fingers lithely undid the black buttons on Erik's shirt as Dry the River crooned in her head, lyrics out of order, one song melding into many…

_You are the string in my bow—We fight those demons day in and day out. _

_But it up and abandoned us when we sleeping in our beds. Did you see the light in my heart?_

_I'm burning like an effigy in here. _

_And I know I'm not the sacrificial deer, but I wish you could have warned me…*_

Erik kissed her mouth urgently, a drowning man aching for oxygen, and his hands spread along her back and lifted her up closer to him as he knelt above her, shirt open. Christine clutched his shoulders tightly; gravity and alcohol weighing her head until it dropped back to the pillow, body arched as Erik trailed kisses along her neck, chest, shoulders.

_Phi is point eight and effectiveness factor is point seven and… What is X? What is—I almost had it—_

_What is the composition of the gas, the output is ninety percent helium… Why is there helium? It's oxygen… What is X-?_

Erik exhaled heavily and set her down. Limp, Christine's heavy eyelids slowly opened. Erik's biceps flexed through his shirt as his fingers contracted emptily at her sides. He slowly turned away; sliding to sit at the edge of the bed, facing the balcony, shoulders slumped.

Christine lay for a while with eyes to the ceiling. The buzz of her thoughts was dimming and she was exhausted. Slowly she rolled onto her side and watched Erik's back. She was more curious than uncomfortable, more annoyed than concerned.

She lay watching him for a long time until his profile turned towards her, just the mask, chin pointing to his shoulder. His mouth was set.

"Erik?"

"Christine."

"What are you doing?"

He rotated back to her, slowly sliding to lie beside. She watched his stomach muscles shift and shadow and put one hand over them. He took in a shaky breath at her touch. "You're going to be the death of me," he mumbled.

"What time is it?"

Erik shook back one sleeve and peered at his watch. "It's two AM."

"Urgh," Christine laid one forearm across her eyes. "Thank the lord tomorrow's Sunday." She cuddled closer to him. "All I'm gonna do is _sleeeep…"_

"Christine," Erik asked, and she tilted her head up to look at him, "Will you remember all of this tomorrow?"

"_Yes_," she answered with exaggerated but real affront. "_Yes_ I will."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Erik. Why? Are you not going to and you want me to remind you?"

Erik scoffed. "As if I could forget."

Christine looked down.

"Don't forget your promise," Erik whispered. She peered up. His eyes gleamed yellow in the gloom, like a cat's, on hers.

Christine watched him and no light return came to mind. She suddenly pictured his bowed silhouette beneath the skylight. Unease wound in her belly.

"Erik," she reached out and stroked his cheek and flinched when he flinched, at the nearness of her hand to his mask. "Don't think so much of the end of things. You'll miss everything else."

He stroked her cheek in response; her fingers came to a rest on his jaw. "You're so beautiful, Christine."

"I don't like a lot of compliments," she replied sleepily. "They seem insincere… They make me think you have an ulterior motive."

"Hmm," Erik murmured thoughtfully. "Well."

Christine slowly let her eyes close and was beginning to drift off when she felt one of Erik's arms slip beneath her head, the other pulling her waist closer to his and resting atop it. Her lips curled up in the haze between sleeping and waking and she rested one hand on his chest. Her last memory was Erik's chin against her forehead.

* * *

><p><em>*Lyrics are from Dry the River's <em>Shallow Bed_ album and are not mine. _

_Please review! _


	10. Chapter 10

****_A/N: As usual, thank you so much to everyone who reviewed (and especially to the faithful ones)! I hope that last chapter wasn't too fluffy for your liking-it's all important! I promise! _

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><p><strong>CH 10<strong>

It was a kind of wondrous beauty, a mystical awareness, when Christine awoke throughout the night to find Erik's arms still tight around her. Every time she woke they were there, the light shifting in the room as time went on; a small island where changes only brought more good and every recognition was wondrous. Christine felt aware of every little thing around her and touched by the detail of it. The dust motes in the air, the growing red glow to the room, the shadows on the walls, the wrinkles and soft cotton in the sheets beneath her… And even larger.

The way people met and needed each other. The profundity of this universal connection, this common motivation behind almost every human action, this link between everyone. _We're all searching outside ourselves. _

_Why does it have to be that way?_

And how incredibly lucky people were when, despite the odds generated by their teeming masses of confusion, they found a mutual understanding with someone.

Christine peered at Erik's face. Tranquil, the masked side pressed into the pillow, his eyelashes lay lightly. She noticed the masked eye had none but a blonde dusting.

Awkwardly, Christine slipped one arm from beneath his on her ribs and cautiously brought it to his chest. She let her hand rest there for a while, eyes intent on the steady pulse and breaths flowing in his throat.

She looked to his face again and watched for a long time. Her nerves sparked as the threat of this observation spread.

Thoughtfully, her fingers crept up to his face, thumb lightly brushing along unmasked jaw; then, the lightest brush, palm cupping cheek; then fingers tracing unmasked eyebrow, the bottom of lower lip. Even lighter, she traced the mask's edge along the center of his nose. The fabric felt rough and canvas-like.

_…I know you don't believe me._

_I'll _make _you love me._

Christine's finger halted on the tip of Erik's nose and she gazed over his shoulder, quiet and still for a long time. She did not notice the eyelids flicker in the expression so near hers.

After a time, she let out a slow breath and returned her perusal of Erik's face. Gently, almost absently, she brushed her finger down the masked slope of his nose, spreading over his cheek, under his eye. Hers held an expression of confused pain invisible to their object. She gave another quiet puff of breath and brought her hand to the opposite side of his face, thumb stroking cheek, eyes now unseeing at his throat. She placed her hand back on his chest and curled closer to him and drifted off. Erik pulled her tighter as her breathing steadied.

For a long time after she'd fallen asleep, he stared over her shoulder; the room growing lighter and warmer as sun smoldered beneath red curtains.

Erik pressed his nose against the top of her frizzing hair and squeezed his eyes tightly. He tried to keep his fingers from clenching on her ribs but the tension in his body must have contrasted too greatly to that in hers, and she shifted and made a sleepy groan, nestling closer and nuzzling her nose against his chest.

"Go back to sleep," she murmured huskily.

Erik chuckled, his voice likewise sleep-clogged. "Why?"

"Mmm…" Christine sighed. "I'm too tired for a smart reply to that."

Erik pulled her closer and leaned his cheek on her hair. "What do you want for breakfast?"

She sighed again and wrapped one arm tight around him. "Don't get up yet."

"Okay," he accepted.

Both lay curled together for a while. Christine's fingers ran absently up and down Erik's spine, then over the bumps and planes of his ribs. They pressed a bit deeper, searching for a new pattern and not expecting to find it; doing so in a surprised way.

Fingertips ran along raised edges, slashes crisscrossing Erik's back, following no pattern made by bones or muscle—

The skin by these edges was smooth and wrinkled in places and fingers searched with growing alarm, moving slower, as Erik's back stiffened.

"Erik…" Christine pulled back and looked up at him. "Oh, Erik…"

His eyes flickered meticulously over her face. They were unreadable, as was his expression. It cleared after a time and his shoulders loosened.

"Christine," he gave a weary smile, "we've all got something painful to carry."

"What _happened_?" she asked quietly.

His features hardened again and there was now a flash to the gold in his eyes and he stared over her shoulder a time before his expression cleared. "Well," he gazed back at her, eyes withdrawn and resigned. "Christine… Maybe I'll tell you later."

"Okay." She nodded scarcely, hair fuzzing on the sheets. Her lips pursed in understanding and thought as she stroked his back. "Well. Oh, Erik… Sometimes I wish I could avenge all the wrong in the world, because accepting it seems it would just… Crush me."

"Hmm," sighing. "I'm too cynical for that."

Both lay still for a time. Erik tapped his fingers down Christine's spine. He gestured over her shoulder. "Shall we?"

Half an hour later, white tiles pressed coolly against Christine's bare legs as she sat cross-legged on Eric's balcony, plate of wheaty French toast in her lap. The air was hot and close. Rays of sun squinted behind nearby buildings.

A somber cloak hung since both stood from the bed—Christine could not force herself to act free. She felt constricted by the memory of Erik's scars, the feeling of them; every time she recalled it her skin ached and crawled. Thoughts shifted to her suspicion of his self-hatred, to the mask. She felt helpless and frustrated by human failure to accept flaws and love in spite of them. _Stubborn idiocy to strive for perfection._

She shifted, red dress wrinkled and linty from sleeping in it. Across from her Erik leaned against the glass balustrade and yawned.

"Are you gonna eat that?" she pointed at the last quarter of his toast with her fork. He pushed his plate across the tiles.

Christine swallowed and sighed and sipped her coffee, eyes far beyond the parapets of Huey Long's castle.

"Christine…" Erik began.

"Hmm," her green irises flicked to him.

When you leave…

I can't picture it. Oh my God.

I can't picture it. If…

If I didn't have your response to at least some of the things I said, I would lack. If I didn't have your mannerisms to know your character, your face to see your thoughts, your voice to know you're talking to me, your… You…

If I no longer felt your character fit into mine like the puzzle it is I would lack every vital organ that should be mine. If I don't have you I am without me.

"Never mind."

She watched him for a moment. "Well," she stood and stretched and yawned. "Can you maybe take me home soon? I'm sorry, I hate making you drive all the way back there, but I need to get groceries and I've probably infringed on your space long enough…"

Erik stood as well. "Definitely." He scooped her plate from her hands and she followed him indoors. "And you're welcome to stay as long as you want. I hope you know that."

She ducked her head in reply as Erik set the dishes in the sink. She went out to the couch where her purse still sat. The air had shifted again, awkwardness sliding back into place. Christine bent and grabbed her bag and turned and Erik stood watching, intent, fixed on her. He seemed to withdraw at her notice, however; and smiled slightly, looking down. She walked toward him and he put an arm around her shoulders. Tight, squeeze for a moment, and he kissed her hair and then it loosened.

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Later that day, on a run that ached and weighted down her tired quadriceps, Christine's memory rolled and rolled over how Erik's hand had caught hers as she opened the car door outside her apartment. He caught it and hovered over it a splice longer than Christine could accept. Then he squeezed it tight between his two and dropped it and it felt cold and she did not see his face.

It was something that draped a little bit of itself over the bottom of her lung and made the intake of breath both painful and wondrous.

"Dad!" Christine flopped on the stiff couch in her living room after showering and ensuring the apartment was empty. "Finally!"

Her father's voice echoed warmly through the phone. "Honey! I miss you so much, are things any better down there? You still toughin' it out?"

"Yeah," Christine sighed. "I miss you too! I can't wait to come home. It's just the same. I haven't done anything new with my project, and I don't think there's anything I _can_ do, either. I _still_ can't believe they're paying me so much to literally just mix solutions. I mean, I shouldn't complain…"

"It's a good experience," Charlie Daae replied reasonably—the same reply he gave after every identical update from Christine. "You're just getting experience. Just keeping telling yourself that. It's just a summer."

"I know…" she sighed again. "Oh! But I am _kinda_ learning something new; I'm learning how to use this fancy machine a lot of people in my lab don't even know how to do. This one guy is teaching me about it."

"There's something! What is it? Do I know it?" Christine's dad was a chemical engineer. He made coatings for hip replacements that resisted infection and owned a small company in Oregon. His enthusiasm for engineering was such that he brought awe to every new lesson Christine told him.

"Umm. It's called dynamic light scattering, and it's this _huge_ machine, have you seen one? This guy Erik is teaching me to use it. Dad. He's a _genius. _He got a doctorate in like four or five years or something."

"Wow," her father sounded impressed. "That's quite an accomplishment. And he's teaching you? Normally those guys have a stick shoved so far up their arse their brains are almost useless…"

Christine laughed. "He kinda does act like that sometimes. But Dad… He's actually really the only person who's helped me with anything here. Like he's taught me which machines work better and how to use them, too.

"…He's a pretty nice guy."

Christine gave him a brief but arching summary of everything that happened with Erik—the mask, her suspicions, the bike crash, the date, everything—minus the making out, of course. And his 'love'. And the beers and sleepover.

"Oh, Christine," Charlie murmured after a long time. "Christine."

"What?" she asked nervously.

"I just have a feeling that… Well. You're an adult and… I don't know. This may be something you'll have to learn yourself."

_"What?"_

"Don't… This man. You're a smart girl. You don't… You know, you are a logical person, for the most part. You, you know, you let your care for people build up with time…"

Christine swallowed and curled her toes and felt that uncomfortable twinge that came when she knew her father was talking about something painful. "Dad-"

"It's alright honey. I know your mom could've said this better. But—

"Some men—some people, but I only can imagine how men would feel—Sometimes, when you've been through so much hardship, as it seems this man has, you become very _certain_ of things instead of the opposite. You know what you hate and you know what you love.

"And when that little gleam of light comes, after everything you've been through, it's…" Sigh. "It's a lot brighter, not because its _uncommon_, but because _you've_ finally _chosen_ to see it. Do you get what I mean?"

Pause. "Ye-ess…?"

"I think this Erik fellow probably cares about you quite a bit, honey. Justified or unjustified. You just can't see in people's heads. The fact that he's chosen to make the effort for you—when, I'm assuming, he probably wouldn't make an effort for anyone he was interested in previously—kind of proves it."

Christine was silent.

"I'm just saying, be cautious. You have all the power here. And you don't want to send the wrong message, and that's probably gonna be easier to do than usual. I don't know. I'm waxing poetic. But do you get what I mean?"

"Maybe…" Christine was still for a time. Static fuzzed on the line as her father was quiet too.

"Dad-" she swallowed. "What should I do then? I think it would be kind of pompous to outright tell him I don't want a _relationship_ or something… And he knows I'm leaving, anyway."

_Promise me… Christine!_

The memory of his expression as she knelt above his chest danced in the dim light of the room. Christine unconsciously took a sharp breath. Squirmed when she realized it.

"Hmm." Her father seemed to sigh. "You're right. Well…" He cleared his throat. "I guess I would just counsel that what might seem flippant to you won't be to him. So just… God, that poor guy." Voice light again. "He's probably still not sure what hit him. I swear, you look just like your mother, and you're two times smarter. And she was quite a brain, you know.

"Oh, Christine. I love you and I don't want you to get hurt by some boy. Don't get _guilted_ into anything, you know?"

"—Dad-"

"I mean it-"

"Dad!" Christine exclaimed in exasperation. "Good lord, you really are going over the top tonight! I'm only here three more months. Besides, I thought you were worried about _him_. It's fine, calm down, jeez."

"It's not always that simple," Charlie muttered ambiguously. He gave a quick sigh and his voice rose back to a cheerful level. "Well, hun, I miss you like crazy but I gotta go to bed. Give me a call soon though, okay?"

After Christine said her goodbyes she shifted and lay on the couch and stared up at the ceiling. Moist, warm air drifted in from the open window and cicadas buzzed. She relived moments with Erik again and again like secret treasures, huddling around the memory, her face warming and eyelids closing at the emotion remembered in his voice, the happiness in his eyes, the desperation in his widespread fingers. _That was so wonderful._

But a faint guilt kept clouding her selective recollections and she could not deny the flutter of trepidation that passed through her gut in intervals.

The door opened loudly and Christine jumped and looked over. It was Anna, the non-racist roommate, and her boyfriend. Christine gave a tight smile and looked back at the ceiling. They both gave a quick hello and rounded the corner to Anna's room. The door closed.

_They must think I'm so weird. Wait. No. _They're_ weird. _Christine sighed and stood.

The vinyl of her mattress crinkled harshly under the sheet. She laid one arm across her ribs in a poor imitation.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The little boy was hunched over, breathing hard, his hands on his knees. His face blazed and smoked. The sweaty steam from it and his mouth puffed into the damp air.

Little fragile ribs shadowed beneath the boy's thin gray shirt. He gasped and shuddered and heaved, spitting on the ground, mind retching while body could not. He stumbled forward and gripped the sharp bark of a tree as his head bent against it. There were tears, but those were dwindling now.

A dog barked at the edge of the dark woods. Enraged and ravenous. The little boy turned. His face was black in the night. He ran.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

At a house sloping on its stilts in the southern Louisiana swamps, frogs croaked and crickets chirped and lights danced upon the water. Voices inside raised and lilted; shadows danced before the windows, music floated about with the breeze.

Antoinette Giry was being swept in circles by a gangly youth as an older man played an accordion at the far wall, creaks of old wood planks muffled by the shuffle of waltzing feet. Wooden lawn furniture had been pushed to the walls of the room and many young children were scattered throughout; the majority of the dancers under thirteen. Some hovered at the edges of the room and darted to and fro, giggling.

The accordion quivered at song's end and Antoinette whirled to a stop, sighing and laughing and clapping her hands. She wrapped her teenage partner in a hug, releasing him as the old man stamped out a one, two, three; a fast ballad flurried from the accordion keys to the air and feet tapped the floor again.

She was young and short and slight of figure, and gave a sigh and wiped her brow with the back of her hand, tightening her bright blond ponytail and pulling up her shorts as she scurried around the room, scooping up the youngest children and recruiting the elders to do the same once both arms were full.

They trudged upstairs to an attic cool in the dark with screened windows open wide. Antoinette set the two four-year-olds in her arms into the same bed and smoothed their cheeks. She pulled the sheet atop them. Across the room, she whispered to one of the older ones as he tucked a child in. "Joey. Make sure they're two-a-bed tonight, okay? That might not even do it, but we'll try."

She returned downstairs and padded through a short hallway to a tiny kitchen. Dishes were piled high in the sink and she sighed and went to a tall jug of water in the corner. Poured a cup and leaned against the cupboards. But for a bathroom and storage closet, the house ended here. Antoinette mentally inventoried how many inflatable mattresses were in the closet, with and without holes. Did the pump still work?

Debienne's was here, and while she appreciated their donation and the children loved the chaos brought on by a doubling in their ranks, Antoinette felt her lower back ache and the balls of her feet sting from standing so long, her house more stifling than usual with the steam of many little bodies.

Debienne ran a foster home similar to Antoinette's. He provided a professional front for it, however, which lent Antoinette an authority her weak finances could not buy. She barely met legal requirements and scrapped for funding from churches and fought for day old food from bakeries and collected coupons and interrogated potential parents from a cool office that Debienne scraped rent together for. Meanwhile, her grandfather's house sighed and sagged on its stilts, ever stretching toward the swamp.

In the sticky heat Antoinette's eyelids closed a moment. Things were beautiful outside of her exhaustion. Within it, she wondered how long…

"Momma?"

A small girl stood holding a toddler. The baby's face was slack and peaceful, its curly hair gossamer thin. "I found Jammes sleeping in the tub. You know she goes in there."

"Oh, Meg," Antoinette knelt and wrapped her arms around the girl. "What would I do without you," she took Jammes from Megan's arms and cradled her in one while wrapping Megan up in the other. She was eight years old, skinny, hair long and yellow. "Now you don't have to help your momma out tonight, you remember that? This is _your_ night; all your friends are here. You are such a big help to me, Meg."

"It's okay."

Antoinette rocked back on her heels and studied her daughter's face. "I love you so much, honey."

Megan replied, "I love you too," suddenly grinning, a gap from a lost baby tooth, and whirling away to the main room. Her little voice melded with the many others and the music.

Jammes was deposited safely in a crib—lord, that child liked to wander—and Antoinette began the dishes. Soon her counter was covered in dripping pots and plates, the dish rack overflowing, as notes from the accordion dwindled and feet tramped upstairs more and more frequently. There was naught but the murmur of voices as she wiped her wrinkled fingers on a dishtowel and went down the hallway.

"Alright," Antoinette interrupted. Debienne was snoring lightly in the corner, accordion slipping in his fingers, headed tilted back against the wood. The older children sat clumped in a corner, some separated: evidently the fallout from a game of telephone. Debienne snorted and started awake blearily. Antoinette put her hands on her hips. "It's time to sleep, y'all. We got air mattresses in the closet—_wait_, mister, until I'm done-" some snickered as a boy slunk back down to the ground "—and blankets are on the top shelf. I _will_ be sleeping down here with Mr. Debienne and the boys _will_ be sleeping on _that_ side," she pointed across the room to a few groans, "and the girls on the other. And when the lights are out, _they are out_, and if _anyone_ talks you're on the porch with the skeeters and the gators. Y'all get me?"

There was mixed grumbling as all stood and migrated toward the walk-in closet at the far corner of the room. Mixed pool mattresses scattered the floor like multicolored flower petals, most donated from thrift stores; some already inflated, some not, the room filling with the scattered whine of an electric pump and voices calling "Dibs!"

Antoinette tossed blankets around to those who forgot to grab one in their haste for a mattress. Soon, all settled down, whispers and giggles scattered, Debienne hushing the boys wearily. Antoinette turned out the lights. Silence immediately cloaked the ground.

Antoinette smiled to herself as she shifted on the cold vinyl mattress, wrapping the blanket around her until she could no longer feel it. Sleep came like a glorious breath.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The little boy stumbled and fell in the pitch black. Cypress bark pressed its rusty flesh into his legs. The tide was out for he knew not how long, and he knew he must escape the marsh soon, or the water would rise to his shoulders and the alligators mistake his human floundering for the artlessness of food. So he stood and trudged on, the squelch of mud under his feet the only sound of his progress; the whip and whisper of wiregrass upon his ankles the only feeling.

His hands felt wet and sticky and bloody and ached and he kept wiping them on his soaking shorts but five steps later they would be bloody again. He expected his shorts were soaked in blood, but as the cypresses thinned and the moon sparkled down he saw that his hands were only pale and muddy and his shorts damp from falling and the consequent sweat and saltwater.

The trees began to thin. Soon, the boy's feet left mere indents in the mud rather than holes, each step no longer seized gaspingly by the land. The grass grew thicker and coarser. The ground began to slope. The little boy fell against its incline and curled and slept, unthreatened in the wilderness, comforted by its cloaking anonymity, the encroaching, shielding veil of the Spanish moss above him. He knew the slope protected him from the dragging fingers of the water and he knew the tall wiregrass shielded his little shell and he knew the alligators—if they ventured close enough—would smell his human threat and leave and only the mosquitoes could find him and mark him, but they were temporary things. He slept with fingers curled tight around the grass stems.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Megan Giry first saw the little boy while she was at recess. She was sitting on the far edge of the playground, knotting grass stems together, solitary after an argument on proper grass-tying method resulted in a mutual pout. She looked about restlessly as her fingers slithered through the blades for a thick piece. Far across the soccer field, a figure lay curled, back to her. She studied it. Her fingers stilled in the lawn.

Meg was a caring child; a depth of sympathy flowed in her from her mother, and she stood and started toward the figure, feeling needed. As she got closer she realized it was a little boy with ragged black hair, a gray t-shirt worn thin and holey and fraying at the seams, baggy about a chest that slowly rose and fell. The boy wore shorts that had clearly been soaked, mud staining them at the knees, similarly tattered; his little shins scratched and caked with dirt. Meg knelt down next to him and softly shook his shoulder.

"Hey," she said softly. "Are you okay? What happened?"

The boy's even breathing immediately stilled. His profile hardened, the eyes studiously closed.

"It's okay," Meg murmured, stroking his arm as she'd seen characters do in movies. "I know you're awake. Did one of the big kids hit you? You should tell the recess lady, you know-" she reached out to brush the blue bruise under the boy's eye.

The boy lashed out, furiously sitting up and whirling at Meg in the blink of an eye. She gasped and leaned back. Her hand remained in midair, frozen. The boy had one hand pressed tightly to the other half of his face and swung again at Meg with one fist.

"Stop!" she scooted backwards anxiously, "Stop! I was only trying to help! Stop!" And she swung back at him desperately.

The boy caught her wrist and twisted it until tears sprung in her eyes and muffled sobs choked her throat. She thought his eyes looked horrible and evil, yellow and sadistic and squinting against the sunlight. "Let go," she choked.

With a final wrench, the boy did. Meg scooted back as fast as she could, muffled sobs in her throat as she clutched her wrist to her chest. Then she leapt up and fled, glancing back once to see half of the boy's horrible little victorious face. She imagined he had fangs.

Megan told her mother all about the boy when she got off the school bus, crying as she did. Antoinette soothed her and called the school but none of the teachers could determine which student she described.

The next week, Antoinette was scheduled to work as a recess teacher. The awful boy had been pushed to the side of her mind and faded almost completely from Meg's. Therefore it was somewhat unexpected when Meg, in the middle of recess, ran up to her mother's seat and shook her knee to distract her from conversation with the other recess monitor.

"Momma! Mom!"

"…I know," Antoinette sighed in sympathy and then turned slowly to her daughter. "Meg, honey, it's impolite to interrupt people. Okay?"

"That boy's here! He's in the soccer field! Momma, I hate him, I hate him…"

"Meg, don't go sayin' you hate people," Antoinette stood slowly. "But…" Her brow drew down. "Mary, could you keep an eye on everything for me for a mo'? There's a little bully who needs to learn to apologize." And she strode purposefully out to the field with Meg close behind.

As she got closer, a slow, strange feeling of trepidation built. The way this boy laid curled on the ground was unnatural and somewhat disturbing. He reminded her of a dead animal on the side of the road, somehow unmarked from the car tires that killed it. The unease grew as she got close enough to see his tattered clothes, nearing very real concern as she realized how irregularly his ribs rose with each breath.

"Megan. Stay over there."

Antoinette stopped and stood over the boy. Flies settled occasionally on deep scratches on his arms and neck. The bruise by his eye had faded to purple but was still sickening. His eyes were closed, face unnaturally pale. Antoinette's heart rate escalated. She knelt beside the boy and shook his bony shoulder lightly. Nothing. "Hey," she said loudly. "Hey you." Nothing.

She rolled the boy over on his back. Her eyes found his face and she recoiled instantly.

She shut her eyes tight, wishing to erase the grief and disgust coiling in her with the image.

Half of the little boy's face was normal and the other half was hideously deformed, with the skin thin and ravaged and stretched over abnormal lumps of bone and sinking into abnormal pockets where the bone, if it existed, seemed paper-thin. It was though his face had rotted and grown mold, and then the flesh crept with searching fingers across and over it.

Slowly, Antoinette opened her eyes again, squinting carefully at the emaciated figure in front of her. She put her hands on her knees and looked around the field. Then she scooped up the little boy in one movement, arranging his body so the deformed side of his face remained hidden against her chest, and strode across the grass.

"Meg." Her daughter watched with wide, worried eyes. "This boy is very, very sick. I need to take him to the hospital right away, okay? I need to take him right now. I think he's homeless."

Meg trotted along to keep up. "But how did-"

"I'll be home by the time you're off the bus. Okay, sweetie? Mary," Antoinette called as she got closer to the other recess monitor. "Mary!"

Mary whirled about and took in the little boy's figure and gasped. "What in the lord-"

"I don't know. I'm taking him to the hospital. There's no way he's a student here and his teachers haven't noticed this. I'm leaving. I'm sorry. I'll let you know how things go."

"Okay," Mary called worriedly, striding after her. "Okay, oh my _lord_…"

And thusly did Erik come to owe his life to the Giry family.

* * *

><p><em>Please, please let me know what you think! Vielen dank!<em>


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: I really apologize about how long this took, I promise the next one will be faster. Thanks from the bottom of my heart for the reviews!_

* * *

><p><strong>CH 11<strong>

Two weeks passed in relative seclusion for Christine. It was more of a return to normalcy, but it felt like a departure.

Christine caught herself gazing out the lab windows occasionally, reliving moments with Erik. She relived the sexy ones. She'd blush and look down, a secret smile, then cast it away and begin filling vials. The memory of yearning was fascinating. Everything around her disappeared and she was back in his apartment. _That_ was what her stomach trilled with. His hands on her face, his fingers widespread, his nails in her back, his hands…

And then there were moments on a run or a bike ride—she'd begun riding again—where words would flash unbidden and she'd jerk, and on the bike if she wobbled brief terror flashed down her arm bones. _I'll keep you here._

It was haunting. When she remembered serious things he said she jerked her thoughts away and squeezed her eyelids tight shut and winced. Within her, a wave rose, curling, growing darker as it swelled above. Before she squelched it and light returned, she knew fear and uncertainty.

Soon after the Date Erik was called to present his research in New Orleans. She saw him outside Middleton Hall on Tuesday; he smiled, mouth closed, and caressed her cheek before he left. He still wasn't back.

She felt no loss with his removal; her experience with him was but a bright spot in an otherwise bleak summer. At times her memories with him gave her an inner glow of warmth, but it wasn't as much sourced from his actions as it was from a cherished reminder: Other people are good, are loving; both she and the universe were still worthy of human affection, and the whole world required this affection just as much as she did.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dr. Kelly leaned against the counter opposite Christine and Megan. Christine shifted uncomfortably and tugged on her rubber gloves as Megan spoke.

"Have you _seen_ Christine's images with the scanning electron microscope? They're hella good, Kelly. Like, it took me forever to figure out how to use that thing. Smarty-pants," she squeezed Christine's shoulder and gave it a shake. "Who trained you on it?"

"Wow," Dr. Kelly hunched, peered at the computer screen where a perfectly focused picture of Christine's nanoparticles displayed. She could feel the blush starting at his obvious surprise. "That's pretty good, Miss Daae," he leaned over and scrolled through the photos. "And you're really getting a lot of silver coverage too, that's great. We might just run out of stuff for you to do, girl."

_What? Because I have _so _much already? _

Christine leaned away from Dr. Kelly's arm and coughed, discretely alarmed. "Um, well…" she glanced at Megan. "Yeah. I guess we'll see, I still have a lot more to do…"

"Mm. Well." Kelly straightened and stepped back. "I've got a meeting with Dr. Monroe in fifteen minutes so I gotta run. Keep up the good work, guys." He left.

Christine pressed the back of her hand to her hot cheek and was scrolling through the images, trying to estimate how thick the silver shell on her particles had become, when suddenly she started. "Shit!"

At the opposite counter, Megan looked up. "What?"

"Ahh… I've been meaning to ask Kelly when he thinks it's worth me running the DLS on these… I mean, I don't want to do it multiple times, 'cause I've gotta run Erik's samples too, but I need to find how thick the silver is. Shoot."

Megan paused, opened and closed her mouth. Then, "Go run and catch him. I bet you Kelly's still in the hallway."

Christine pursed her lips. _I just got done with him._ She inhaled and strode out the door, looking down the hall for Dr. Kelly's leaned-back posture. She saw him nearing the door and ran-walked toward him, cheeks growing hot. "Kelly! I just have a quick question, are you-"

"Yeah?" he turned around. "What's up, Christine?"

"I just wanted to know—when do you think I should run DLS on my samples again? Like how thick should the shell look in the microscope? 'Cause I've got all those samples to do for Erik, so I just didn't want to—um. I guess—_do_ it if I didn't _need_ to…"

"Oh!" Dr. Kelly looked startled and looked over his shoulder at the door. Christine shifted awkwardly. "Hm," he squinted at the ground. "Try the DLS when it looks like the shell is 300 nanometers thick in the microscope. That should do it, hopefully." He started to walk toward the door again. Christine's mouth opened to thank him when he turned around, walking backward, "But good lord, you're a hard worker, girl. Erik's got you running samples for him? And I know he's got a _ton_ of them, too. Well. Good luck with that," he added cheerfully, pushing open the door.

"Oh—but, didn't _you_ want-"

And the door closed behind him. Christine felt her face paling as she twisted her hands in the hallway. _Wait… What? _

_Did Dr. Kelly not want me to run the DLS? Did Erik misunderstand or something? _

She went back into the lab. Her stomach was deflated and sinking. She looked around for Megan; desperate for some sort of confirmation that she wasn't a complete idiot, hadn't easily agreed to do something only fools thought was their responsibility—

_…Is it really that big of a deal?_

_Was this some prank—'get the intern to do the crap'—that I naively fell for? And I thought he was helping me…_

_God, they must think I'm a pompous idiot, here I was… I was _flattered_ that Kelly wanted me to do this too, beyond my usual patronizing toddler routine. When really, I just got manipulated into doing someone's dirty work… And he got a near fuck out of it, too._

_Okay, wow, stop. You don't know._

"Hey Megan?" Christine leaned across the counter, face blank. Megan looked up. "Do you happen to know how—lo-_onng_ Dr. Kelly wanted me to help Erik with running DLS samples?"

Megan flicked the bottom of a test tube; eyebrows furrowed, and didn't look back over. "Um… Noo, I never heard about that, actually…" she put the vial on a shaker and raised her voice over the loud vibrating noise. "I mean—maybe ask him? Or Erik. …Ask Erik." She watched the test tube determinedly.

Christine lowered her eyes to the counter. A weird swelling was happening in her. _And I bragged to my dad about it. _

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The next day was a Friday and the lab was fairly empty. Christine had an entire counter to herself and put in her headphones and mixed solutions in silence, foot tapping occasionally. Every now and then, Megan and Raoul popped in, and there was a general buzz between them and bickering which Christine was aware of but didn't consider. Aaron bustled about, too, gathering things in a Styrofoam cooler and mumbling, and Christine spared him a few glances.

Finally he dropped something and there was the tinkling of glass and he exclaimed, "Shit!"

Megan and Raoul came running in. "Which was it, which was it?" Raoul demanded, crouching on the ground and sniffing above the spill. "Which was it?"

Christine warily turned around and watched, one headphone out.

"It's okay, it's okay," Aaron said hurriedly. "It was just one of the extra tubes of—God. It was just a tube of fucking water, y'all. Oh wow."

Raoul rocked back on his heels and buried his face in his hands. Megan and Aaron began to laugh and Raoul chuckled drily. Christine ventured over and grabbed the broom.

"What is going _on_, guys?" she started to sweep up the glass.

Megan sighed as Raoul stood slowly. "This one got called to New Orleans to present with Erik," she jabbed a thumb at Raoul, "and he's gotta do it at nine tomorrow morning and _of course_ you don't have a presentation," she glared at Raoul, "I told you, I _told_ you, God!"

"Please, Meg, just shut up. Please." Raoul rubbed his eyes.

Aaron raised his eyebrows at Christine. "We're all heading out tonight so this guy can sleep in tomorrow. The university's paying for a hotel room for us, you wanna come? We'll have all day to explore the city if you want."

"Are you serious?" Christine stopped sweeping excitedly. "Oh my G—I've always wanted to see New Orleans! Wow, yes, can I really? I'll give some money for food and gas, I'd really—Thank you so much for inviting me!"

Megan grinned. "Girl, the school's paying for my gas. If you wanna buy us all some beignets, though, I won't stop you."

"Okay," Raoul started petulantly. "Okay, Christine, I'm glad you're coming, but can we please keep moving this stuff? Now? Please?"

Megan blew a raspberry at him and rolled her eyes as Aaron picked up the cooler and trudged out with Raoul. "I'll pick you up at four," she winked. "Bring cash for the House of Blues. We'll have fun."

Down the hall, Aaron shouted, "Fuck yes! House of Blues, bitch!" Raoul seemed to grumble something rude in reply.

"Hey, I can finish this trial in like an hour and help you guys," Christine offered. "What all do you need to move?"

As it turned out, the things Raoul had to bring were few. They just all required extensive packing—one little vial took up half a cooler to keep it frozen during the trip.

Christine spent the rest of the day in joyous camaraderie with Megan, Raoul, and Aaron; packing samples in ice until her fingers were numb. She finally had a sense of belonging. She completely forgot her earlier nagging uncertainty with Erik and the DLS and laughed at something Raoul said and thought, _How did things get so good so suddenly? This is all I hoped for all along!_

At half-past four—_Well, I _am_ still in Louisiana—_Megan rolled up in her small silver Jetta and Christine carefully arranged her overnight bag in the trunk with the coolers. She plopped in the back with Aaron and set her purse on her lap.

"Hey. Sorry we're late," Megan greeted over her shoulder as she sped off.

"It's okay. I kind of just add thirty minutes to everything here now."

Aaron laughed. An awkward silence began to settle. Christine leaned forward and disrupted it. "So, what is all that crap in the back _for_, anyway? Like how are you gonna display everything tomorrow if it all has to be packed in ice?"

"Oh," Raoul looked up from his laptop. "Actually, it'll be fine. I normally keep my samples in the oven so they're at body temperature—since they're bone tissue and stuff—I just put them all in ice to regulate the temperature, so they won't fall apart or anything. When we get there I'll just put them on a hot plate and it'll all be good."

"Ohh." Christine leaned back. "So… What exactly are you presenting? Or—crap, I'm sorry, you're probably trying to write your presentation right now."

"Yeah." Curt. "But—Don't worry about it. Mega-poo, you tell her."

"Don't call me that, _Ralphy._ Basically, Christine, Raoul was able to take bone cartilage cells from a mouse and grow and multiply them on a collagen scaffold—it's like a porous thing for the cells to live on. Then Erik took the scaffold with all the new bone tissue and implanted it in a defected mouse skull, and the mouse's skull accepted the implant, pretty much, and new bone grew in the defected spots."

"It's not the first time this has happened," Raoul interjected modestly.

"It's _one_ of the first," Megan insisted. "Christine, it's a different method every time people do this, and they're not sure which the best one is, so each success is a pretty big deal. I mean, think about it. If a soldier's knee got blown up, or something, someday maybe they could just grow him a new one from bone tissue in the other knee. It, like, almost _eliminates_ the danger of organ transplant rejection. It's incredible."

"Wow," Christine murmured, staring at the road ahead. "Wow! God!" she sat up straighter. "Congratulations, Raoul, that's really amazing. That's like magic. Jeez."

A thoughtful silence settled.

"…When you say the mouse's skull was _defective_… What do you mean? Megan?"

Megan cleared her throat. "Well…"

Raoul spoke quickly. "It sounds bad, but they deliberately malnourish the mother when she's pregnant. So the baby mice have really low bone density. Sometimes their skulls don't form completely—it's really rare—we normally just implant the scaffold into an area where the bone is thin and see if it causes an increase in density. This one was a big deal because we actually _had_ one of those mice with a patchy skull, and were able to get bone tissue to fill in one of the gaps."

"Ohh," Christine breathed. She rested her head on the seatback. _So that's what it is._

The swelling feeling returned. It was like a weight of sadness on her face. She didn't want to open her eyes. _No, no, this isn't mine… This isn't my problem. This doesn't affect my happiness. No, no, no. _

_I just can't imagine trying so hard to change myself. Ohh, and I keep trying to imagine it, and it hurts so bad to even guess…_

Christine swallowed and stared out the window for a time. Megan turned on the radio to a low volume and Aaron fell asleep against the window. Raoul's keyboard pattered away in the front seat. Christine leaned her cheek against the window and stared out at the black water of Atchafalaya Swamp as miles and miles of bridge went by, the water never ending, the trees outstretched and level with the freeway. White Egrets spotted the cypresses in the distance. She closed her eyes and they burnt, though little light reflected off the water.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Young Antoinette Giry drove at twenty miles over the speed limit the entire way to the rural hospital, the little boy belted awkwardly in her back seat. She saw no other cars. Her heart thrummed in her throat and she glanced at him frequently in the rearview mirror. She was breathing very quickly; she realized it and took deep breaths at intervals.

At the emergency entrance, Antoinette cradled the boy to her chest and staggered in with him and orderlies ran up with a stretcher and their faces were urgent and concerned and she snarled. "_I've got him."_

But they insisted and they wouldn't let her come with and they took him and she watched his little fragile body wheeling away. One nurse glanced at his face and paused briefly; then her expression went clean and she turned to Antoinette. "He'll be okay," she gripped Antoinette's shoulder. "He'll be fine."

Antoinette wandered, lost, in the waiting room. She did not sit down. She stared ahead. Her concern was compounding itself with time and she now knew nothing beyond a circling question of "What if he's not—What will I do if he's not—If he's not—Oh my God, if he's not-"

A tall, slim female doctor emerged after an unknown period of time and walked purposefully toward Antoinette. "Are you the woman who brought in that unconscious little boy?"

Antoinette nodded.

"What relation are you of his?"

"I—I'm—"

Another doctor approached and Antoinette seemed to sag. "Ree," she said.

Ree was small and muscular and wrapped her strong arms around Antoinette, "He'll be okay." She led Antoinette and the other doctor down a hall to an empty room. Antoinette slowly sank onto the plastic chair by the bed.

"She runs a foster home," Ree explained to the other doctor. "Let the bureaucrats figure out this 'relation' shit. Did you find him like that?" she peered at Antoinette intently.

"Yes. Yes, what is wrong with him?"

The other doctor sat on the bed. "He likely has a burst appendix—his abdomen is incredibly swollen. We're checking right now. His collarbone is also broken, and two lower ribs and his right arm. And…" she glanced at Ree.

Ree leaned back against the counter and closed her eyes and sighed. She opened them. "He's been horribly abused, Antoinette. Someone has whipped him and his back is covered in lacerations and they're too infected for us to stitch. The appendicitis is likely from severe dehydration, and the broken bones from abuse." She took a deep breath.

"…Antoinette-"

"I'm taking him," she said firmly.

"Aunty, he's—You're capable of a great many things, my dear, but this is _different_. You've never had a foster with this level of abuse before. Do you realize what a responsibility he will be? Who knows the level of psychological damage—I just don't—It could become _worse_, you see? Through no fault of your own, but for the fact that you're unable to give enough _attention_ to someone like this. I'm not trying to insult you…"

Antoinette rubbed her eyes. "What else can I do, Ree," she sighed. "Give him up to the state? He'll just end up somewhere similar…"

Ree was silent. She raised her face to the ceiling and closed her eyes.

"I'm taking him," Antoinette's voice was gravelly but firm. "At least my place is better than others."

Ree squeezed Antoinette's shoulder, but her face was stern and blank. She retreated and looked at the floor. After a moment she looked up. "We'll go check the results of the CT scan."

Antoinette slowly came back to life as time went by. At the payphone in the hallway, she leaned against the wall and called her house and made sure one of the older kids had a handle on things. Then she called Debienne and murmured a long voicemail into the phone about what'd happened—more from a feeling of obligation than anything else. Then she went back into the small room and starting making a grocery list on a prescription notepad.

By the time she'd finished planning meals for the week the tall doctor had returned. Antoinette looked up.

"His appendix only had a small rupture," the doctor smiled. "Really, you got him here just in time. He's gonna be fine. We've got a cast all fixed up for his arm and the lacerations all cleaned out.

"Just go home," she said kindly. "He's got to stay overnight, you've done the most you can for today. Just go home."

Antoinette stood, weak and stiff, and nodded. "Thank you," she murmured. "God…"

The doctor nodded. "He'll be okay. Things will work out okay."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

At six p.m., Megan and company rolled into New Orleans. The car had slowly filled with quiet but excited chatter, Raoul typing away in the front seat with loud static emitting from his headphones. Christine sat up and peered eagerly out the window, leaning way out, to see the elevated graves in Saint Louis cemetery, tall concrete and marble coffins, different shades of gray crammed together. "Wow," she grinned. "Wow!"

Aaron glanced over at her in the midst of singing along with the radio. "I had a girlfriend who was obsessed with that voodoo queen chick buried there. Should've known then."

"Aaron…" Megan sighed in the front seat but the smile in her voice was evident and reflected in the rearview mirror. Aaron returned to singing. Christine trailed her hand out the window, moving it up and down with the air, and smiled to herself with a quiet joy. Her inner tumult from loneliness had settled to a peace, a relief, a pure happiness. _How do you forget how glorious friendship is so quickly?_

They pulled into the hotel and were met with the smell of cleaning supplies and linens and chlorine—the hotel smell. Their hall was full of activity and Aaron and Megan cheerfully greeted a couple other students attending the conference.

In the room, Raoul flopped down on a bed immediately. He pulled out one headphone. "Are you guys going out? 'Cause if you do, I won't object. I'd be really grateful, actually."

"Quit being an ass," Megan set down a cooler loudly.

Christine bit her lip. An uncomfortable feeling shifted and she hurriedly followed Aaron out to grab the other coolers.

"Ignore Raoul," he advised in the parking lot. "He's kind of a prick when he's stressed."

_And I thought he was so nice… Ah, welcome back, un-peaceful real life._

"Mm," Christine nodded.

They returned and there was a studied silence in the room. Christine set her bag in one corner and picked up her purse.

"Shall we roll out?" Aaron looked around. "Raoul, you want anything?"

Raoul grunted a no, slumped with the computer on his lap. Megan shot him a dirty look before standing from the end of the bed. "Christine, you know we're going clubbing, right? Did you bring anything?"

"Oh! Um, yeah…"

"Well, _change_, girlfriend! We're not coming back here, the French Quarter's a bit too far to go back and forth."

Fifteen minutes later, Christine was headed down the street in a tight navy blue dress she'd brought without ever expecting to wear. Megan looked her older, taller sister in a tighter and shorter red skirt and heels and Christine inwardly admired her ability to walk so effortlessly. Aaron put his arms around their waists. "You two better scatter when we get into the clubs," he warned.

"Hey!" Megan leaned away. "What the hell, you're supposed to look out for us!"

"I'm lookin' out for _moi,_ brosef. _Nobody's_ gonna talk to me with you two around, you'll intimidate the shit out of them."

"Aww," Megan fake-pouted as Christine grinned and looked at the ground. "Sugar."

"Well," Aaron pointed out, "I might have a chance if they see Christine's feet."

"I know," Christine exclaimed mournfully. "I can't believe I only brought these. I look so confused, all dressed up, in _Birkenstocks_."

Megan laughed. "You're still _gahh-geous_, dahling." She ruffled Christine's hair.

_You're so beautiful, Christine._

It was a quake, a shudder, a flood. It was gone. She stared straight ahead as his voice faded in her memory and the image of his outline in the dark and his arm on her ribs, and she felt both a keen loss and relief.

They wandered around the French Quarter for a time, the buildings bunched together close, French in design with bougainvillea hanging from baskets on their balconies. Bourbon Street was crowded as was apparently usual; people spilling from bars and carrying their drinks drunkenly down the road, loud base erupting from open windows. A topless woman stood outside one door, covered in nothing but paint, and what was obviously a prostitute stood just inside the doorway of another bar.

"Holy shit," wide-eyed, Christine smiled nervously at Aaron and Megan.

"Yeah… It's pretty wild," Aaron laughed.

They got muffuletta sandwiches—a salty olive salad with cheese and four different kinds of sausage stuffed between hunks of bread—at Central Grocery, and ate on a bench on the banks of the Mississippi as the sun set. Christine's mouth felt gritty with salt by the end of it.

They ambled around Saint Louis cathedral, the gates to it now closed. Its white castle-like towers were lit by display lights and glowed and beckoned above the square. The statue of Andrew Jackson atop a rearing horse was silhouetted in the dim light.

Psychics and palm readers had begun to set up rickety card tables and paper signs around the square of the cathedral and their candles flickered like fireflies. Christine and Aaron and Megan were silent as they walked.

Christine felt a sense of magic wonder. The freedom in travel and new places, in discovery of different lives. _I am a floating orb among other orbs. I am warm._

"Well," Megan checked the time on her phone as they returned to the front of the cathedral. Christine had stuck her face between the bars of the front gate and was peering up at bronze Andrew Jackson. Aaron was texting. "House of Blues?"

"Please," Aaron closed his phone with a snap.

The entrance to the House of Blues was a tiny doorway, unmarked but for the line outside and the sign above. Then the bouncer let them through and they went down a short concrete sidewalk and up the steps to an old-fashioned looking house, sandwiched between brick buildings, colorfully and loudly painted.

Inside, the building seemed to expand, with high ceilings over the dance floor and a bar both upstairs in the balcony and downstairs. A band played southern rock on the stage and the floor was filled with people. Christine's hearing disappeared in the static of the guitars and the wham of the base and the shout of voices. Lights turned the room to a shifting underwater blue.

Megan elbowed her and pointed to a back corner of the dance floor; Aaron pointed upstairs, at himself and at them. He shouted something to Megan and she replied and pointed at Christine and nodded. Aaron disappeared into the crowd and Christine followed Megan to the corner. They leaned against the wall and watched the band over the tops of heads for a time, unmoving; but soon Christine's foot started tapping, and Megan began to sway, and by the time Aaron returned with three sloshing cups Christine was dancing with an awkward sort of soberly-daring abandon.

They slowed for a moment to sip. Again Aaron whisked into the crowd.

The base ebbed and flowed and thumbed like waves and Christine bobbed amidst them. She was filled with freedom; elated with the moment; wondrous at _friends_ where she'd given up finding them—a place she'd assumed beyond her understanding. It was the kind of happiness that bubbled up in her throat when she closed her eyes. She thrust her hands in the air and danced, love overflowing her fingertips in sparks, visible beneath her eyelids.

By the time she and Megan finished their drinks Aaron had returned with a girl and her two male friends. He dropped a lazy wink at Christine, inclining his head at the taller of the two. She almost wished the two strangers weren't there; she didn't want to pretend at restriction around someone when she felt comfortable with the whole world.

She smiled fleetingly. Aaron began swing dancing with the girl. Christine turned back to the band.

_When a weight must leave your shoulders… Dance, you fool! Hah._

After a few songs, one of the guys grabbed Christine's hand and she paused and looked up. He started to shout something, but then thought better of it and gestured over at the still swing dancing Aaron and girl. The guy pointed to Christine and himself.

"Oh…" she mouthed. "I don't know how." And she pointed at them and herself and shrugged. He seemed to nod and shrug and back up. She thought he was giving up and was relieved and began to dance again when he grabbed her hand and pulled her to face him and began the steps of the dance, smiling encouragingly at her. _Oops. Awkward… Um…_

Then Megan began to dance with the other man and Christine glanced over her partner's shoulder to see Megan dipping back and whirling in circles. She was laughing with her head thrown back. Christine looked up at her partner suddenly with such a brilliant smile and all the happy, free feeling restored; he looked startled but grinned back, and they began to dance faster. Soon she had somewhat gotten the hang of it and was spinning quickly in that back corner, sweaty and warm from the thick air and the movement.

Finally the band took a break and Christine laughed with the sudden ability to hear and gave her partner a warm hug. He laughed in reply and patted her on the back. "Thanks!" he grinned.

She and Megan stumbled through the crowd and out onto the street where it was cool in comparison. Christine fanned herself rapidly and Megan leaned against the brick.

"This is _so_ fun," Christine exclaimed. "I wish there were places like this in Oregon! I wish people danced like that!"

Megan laughed and peered down her shirt. "Damn, I'm sweaty."

Christine giggled and fanned her chest. "Urgh, me too."

They stayed at the club until midnight, when Aaron miraculously reappeared and was able to shout that they had a long, somewhat sketchy walk ahead of them. Drunk on dancing they started for the hotel. They talked in shouts and guffaws. The city was loud and dim and warm, lights glowing around them, low to the ground and colorful; the skyscrapers far off in the distance; and the streets were mainly empty but Christine felt safe and warm with the knowledge of all the life in the buildings nearby. Megan teased Aaron about his mystery girl and French music grew and diminished in volume from a balcony. From the hidden doorway of an old building, a smoky woman in heels and an unbearably short skirt materialized, curling a finger at the two girls. Megan let loose a burst of laughter and Aaron indignantly asked why she'd ignored him. Christine was too shocked to hear her answer.

The next three blocks they seemed to laugh without stopping. Megan had to crouch on the pavement at one point, unable to move with laughter, which made Christine and Aaron laugh longer.

At the hotel, Megan cautiously opened the door to their room, Christine and Aaron snorting behind her. She turned and giggled and hissed, "Sshhh!"

Raoul was still up, however, hunched in front of his computer on the bed. He looked up at them hurriedly. "Hey."

Christine stumbled in and finished a quiet laugh and heaved a sigh. She ran a hand through her hair and kicked off her sandals. Glanced over her shoulder at Raoul.

Beside him on the bed, crunched stiffly on its edge, Erik was peering at Raoul's computer screen.

She did not know he had only just refocused his gaze after following her in shock.

His white collared shirt was unbuttoned and wrinkled up at the throat, tie loose. Black dress pants uncomfortable and stiff looking for the setting. Erik murmured something to Raoul, pointing at the screen, and Raoul typed jerkily.

Erik looked up then and caught Christine watching him. Instinctively she snatched her gaze away, but then she felt silly and slowly looked back over at him. He was still watching her. She smiled lightly. His lips slowly turned upwards. She cast her eyes down slowly.

"Hey Erik," Megan greeted cheerfully. "How was your prez today?"

Erik jerked his gaze from Christine. "Meg, Aaron," he nodded. "It went well."

"Mmm," Megan said, playfully sarcastic, "Gotta love those details." She grinned at Christine as if sharing a private joke and Christine uncertainly smiled back.

_Do you know something? Wait, when did this become a secret?_

Erik yawned. "Anytime, Meg. Raoul, are you just about done? I think you've got it."

Raoul leaned back against the headboard and sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Yeah," he huffed. "Yeah. Fine. I got it."

Erik flicked his eyes over him and Christine saw a sliver of dislike there, of unconcerned disgust. "You're welcome," he said coldly, rising.

Raoul didn't look up. "Thanks," he grunted.

Megan was watching Raoul, her expression openly angry and incredulous.

"Goodnight, Meg," Erik glanced at her, then to Christine. His eyes smiled. She found herself smiling back. Then he turned and was gone.

Christine turned rapidly bewildered eyes from the door to her feet. She slowly sat down on the edge of the other bed. _Why…_ _He never even…! _A small stone of hurt curdled in her gut. Disappointed. She stood slowly.

She padded across the room, murmured "I'll be right back" to no one in particular. She was two steps from the heavy oak door when Raoul's voice stopped her.

"He's lying to you, you know."

Christine froze.

"Raoul!" Megan gasped.

"He doesn't need your help in the lab. He fucking _likes_ you or something so he tricked you into working there."

"Raoul!"

"What? She should know; I'd want to. He's fucking _creeping_ on you in the name of science." Here Raoul laughed derisively. "God."

"What is _wrong_ with you right now?" Megan's voice was getting more high-pitched.

Christine stared at the door. She did not blink.

Slowly, she turned the handle and slipped out.

Numb.

* * *

><p><em>Note: All that science-y stuff is true, actually, except the bit about incompletely formed skulls. I haven't found any reports of that. If you're interested, here's a web address: www .govpubmed/14670104_

_As always, please let me know what you think! _


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: Thank you for the lovely reviews._

* * *

><p><strong>CH 12<strong>

Christine strode down the carpeted hallway and felt as though she was moving very slowly. The hotel smell was there again; she felt a choke. Her surroundings were blurry and she thought vaguely that this was as it should be.

She went down a flight of stairs and banged her heel on the edge of a molding and the ache was sharp so she walked on the toes of that foot until it faded. With a jerk, she pushed open the door to the pool and went a few steps only to see the wrought iron fence surrounding it and realize she'd forgot her key card. Christine lifted her hands to the gate and pushed it wishfully. Her fingers trembled as they lowered.

Just then, a dripping child ran towards and pushed the gate open for her. He grinned and stepped back and she looked down at him, eyes watering and mouth slowly shaking open in an expression of both shock and gratitude and sadness. She nodded to him and he ran off.

She walked slowly across the rocky surface surrounding the pool and pushed the steamy glass door at its other end open and went out. Wet, warm Louisiana air met her; the scent of chlorine; and petunias, somewhere. A hot tub sat unoccupied and placid beside a large glass window facing the pool. Deck chairs were spread evenly across the thick grass once the rocky paving ended, and Christine slipped between them, across the dewy lawn, to a similar iron fence surrounding this little patch; and she gazed out on the parking lot and then the city lights beyond, the sweep of headlights in the distance.

_You _are_ alone._

The glass door swept shut behind her. She gazed down at the fence and stiffened. Footsteps approached, swishing across the grass. Christine slowly straightened and turned around.

Erik looked surprised to see her face him. He paused mid-step. He carefully set the other foot down. He stood just past the end of the paving, partially shadowed by a closed beach umbrella. "I saw you come out here."

"How?" Christine breathed the word in.

"My window."

She turned around to the parking lot.

"It overlooks…"

"Oh."

Erik stepped forwards so quietly she was only aware of him next beside her. She slowly slid her gaze to the side, up to him. He was clutching the bars of the fence and staring straight ahead. She stepped to the left, away from him. He looked down at her then, brow furrowed, and leaned back and let go of the fence.

_Maybe it's not true._

She turned her face up to Erik, turned her shoulders toward him. Inspected his face as he watched her.

"Thanks for saying hello to me in the room," she remarked acidly.

Erik blinked. "I-"

Christine was going to say something to him, ask him, say something passive-aggressive like 'So, when's my next DLS lesson, anyway? They've really not been as regular as you said they would, and I thought I'd not have them on the weekends, so let's change it up, can we? That'd be great. Thanks.' She opened her mouth to do so, though, and all the words came crashing into a pile at the back of her throat. She swallowed down the lump. She couldn't do it.

She felt small and weak and squished. She tried again but her mouth didn't even open this time. _I can't do it. I just can't do it right now._

_Maybe he's wrong._

"Why are you up so late?" she asked curtly.

"Raoul," Erik answered.

_Me too. Or maybe you._

"Mm," Christine looked down. _Why is it like this?_ She thought of her comfort with him, of the warmth and hardness of his shoulder beneath her cheek as she curled on his couch—_No._

"Well. I'm pretty tired; I think I'll go to bed now. 'Night." She turned and looked up at him boldly, briefly, then whisked away and toward the door.

Erik stood, utterly confused and disjointed, in the same place, and Christine ached because she knew his confusion without turning to see it, and she felt so angry that he truly had no qualms of conscience, because that made it seem like she was making a big deal out of nothing; and it was so shameful to feel such betrayal over nothing.

Christine quietly opened the door to the hotel room. It was dim and still. Raoul wasn't there; Megan and Aaron sat together on one of the queen beds and the TV played at a murmur. They were staring straight ahead in heavy silence.

Megan sat up and leaned forward, crisscrossed her legs when Christine entered. "Christine," she called softly.

Christine brushed her hair from her face and took a shallow breath. "It's okay," she rushed. "I, um, I just talked to him. To Erik. It's all fine. It's okay." And she put on a cheerful smile and shrugged. "All good."

"You did?" Megan asked slowly, doubtfully, her hand creeping across the bedspread to mute the TV. Aaron was watching carefully beside her. "Well, I," she scratched her chin. "Christine, I'm so sorry. I don't know what Raoul's problem—I'm just so sorry. What a fucker. But you—you got it all sorted out with Erik? Really?"

"Ohh…" Christine waved a hand and this easy nonchalance was like something eating her. She felt herself dissolving. Pictured a little dinosaur chewing her from the inside out and closed her eyes briefly, and it was all she could do to not snort with disbelief. "Yeah." And then the stroke of genius she knew would convince Megan: "I mean, as much as you can. You know. It's Erik." Christine unconsciously parroted Megan's words from the day Erik first drove her around.

Megan kind of smirked sadly and leaned back. Aaron was watching the two of them intently. "Christine. I'm really sorry, too, girl. I hope you don't let that douche ruin the rest of your time here. He's really a loose cannon when he's stressed."

"Yeah," Megan caught on, "Yeah, seriously—One time he-"

Christine knew what this was and swallowed. It was the kind of gossip that springs up to soothe the wounded, to make it seem like the attack was merely force of habit of the attacker and therefore unpreventable—no fault of the victim's—whilst also passively striking back in a low, cowardly way. But Christine knew better and had no patience for tricking herself into believing all was Raoul's fault.

Erik lied to her and Raoul's tactlessness could not change that fact.

_He took advantage of me when all I wanted was a friend._ She recoiled from her hurt and foolishness and cast for other synonyms and explanations.

_Why did he? Why? And who else knows? Am I a private joke? Why tell someone you love them—and I _knew_ he didn't, but he _insisted_—why do that and lie to them over something stupid like this? He could've just asked me for help, he could've…_

"I'm gonna take a shower," Christine interrupted stridently. Megan looked startled. "I'm sorry. I'm just really tired. G'night."

When she came out of the bathroom the lights were off. Megan was asleep on the far queen and Aaron on the other. Christine crept to the far bed and carefully slipped beneath the blankets, lying on the edge of the mattress. She closed her eyes and everything felt hard.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Christine… Get up. I brought you a donut."

Christine stirred under her sheet and rubbed her cheek against the pillow. "Mm," she grunted. "Okay." She put one arm over her eyes.

She heard Megan giggle over by the bathroom. Rubbed her eyes. Realized Aaron had spoken earlier as she heard him walk to the counter by the sink and pour something into a cup. "There's coffee," he called enticingly and Megan laughed again.

"Ughh…" Christine groaned again and slowly removed her arm from her eyes, squinting. She felt light and peaceful for a moment. _Isn't there something, though— _Her heart sunk shallowly. But there was a small relief, because sleep had lessened much of the burden of hurt from last night. The weight of her bones wasn't quite as heavy. _Just wait and see. Wait and see. You're an engineer, aren't you? There's always more to the story._

Slowly she stood and stumbled into the bathroom and changed. She came out and there was a steamy cup of black coffee and cheap donut awaiting her, Megan applying mascara in the mirror. Christine descended on the coffee.

Megan's reflection looked over at her. "Raoul's already at the conference, just bee-tee-dubs."

"Oh. Okay." Christine sat down on the edge of the other bed and watched Megan in the mirror. "What _was_ his problem—like why did he say that?"

Megan looked down and swirled her mascara brush in the tube. "When he's unhappy he wants the world to be."

"Oh." Christine wasn't sure how to respond to that. She wanted to press for more information but didn't want to look like she cared or expose that she hadn't really talked to Erik.

The conference was taking place in another hotel, this one huge and fancy and old. After driving frustrated circles around the block and trying to get into a parking garage labeled 'Hotel Guests Only', Aaron telling Megan to "Use the valet, dammit" and Megan arguing that they weren't hotel guests but normal people so where the shit was the normal parking, she gave in and pulled up outside the white paneled entrance of the hotel. A livery-clad valet strode forward to meet them.

"Good morning," he said smoothly. He handed Megan a valet ticket and whistled through his teeth and another valet ran up and slipped into the car.

"Wow," Megan looked stunned as her car drove off. "Well."

Inside the hotel was beautiful. It opened to an expanse of mirror-like marble tile and sparkling chandeliers, the check in desk far across the floor. Christine wished she wore heels so she could click across the marble. Great bouquets were set atop circular old-fashioned couches, tall ceilings and pillars ornately carved and brocaded. She was reminded of stories of Anastasia.

"Whoa," Aaron breathed. "This is incredible."

They went up to the desk. A petite receptionist looked up. "Are you here for the National Science Foundation Strides in Engineering conference?"

"Um, yes, we are," Megan looked around. "Where do we go?"

"Y'all can follow me," the receptionist slipped out from behind the counter. They went down a sloping carpeted hallway, down several steps, to a conference room that spread brightly like a ballroom in front of them. A few people in suits wandered, coffee and platters of fruit scattered on red-clothed tables throughout. Huge chandeliers refracted chunks of light and paintings hung on the white walls. "Right through those double doors," the woman pointed across the room.

"Thank you," Aaron said dazedly.

"Wow," Megan looked around. "God, I wish I'd known this was so…"

"Fancy?" Christine supplied. "Seriously. I feel so underdressed. This is _so_ amazing though. When I'm rich I'm staying here… I never thought I'd get to be somewhere like this."

They started across the carpet, exclaiming over every new detail. One double door was propped open and they slipped through to an equally posh room with chairs lining the carpet. Raoul stood at the front beside a projector screen, hunched over his laptop nervously. Erik was beside him, hands in his pockets, calmly talking to a shorter dark-haired man in a suit. Christine looked down at the ground.

People—all in suits and mostly men—began to trickle in. Aaron and Megan took seats in the back row and Christine followed suit, raising her eyebrows quizzically. "This way we can sneak out and explore once Raoul starts," Megan nudged her. "I mean, how often do you get to be in a place like this? And we all know Raoul's spiel, plus he only needs moral support in the beginning." And she waved cheerfully at her boyfriend. Raoul pensively raised a hand back.

"Mm." Christine couldn't help but smirk. "Sounds good to me." She leaned against the seat. Hesitantly, her eyes skittered about. Slowed to Erik. He and his friend had moved away from Raoul and stood in the back corner, and Erik seemed to be listening, nodding occasionally, but his expression looked skeptical and somewhat cold. Christine realized the shorter man was his friend, Nadir, of the crappy house and saggy sofa and kind but pressing ways. She wondered what he was doing here. She looked away before Erik sensed her eyes.

After a time, the room was nearly full and Raoul began. He sounded nervous at first but grew surer, a clean-cut figure gesturing at the slides projected behind him. One by one Christine, Megan, and Aaron slipped out.

At a safe distance from the door Aaron chuckled and held up a hand. Christine high-fived it. They began exploring as a group but separated with time; Christine lingered in the hotel's empty restaurant. Its bar was circular and made to look like a real carousel, which apparently rotated every fifteen minutes. She ghosted a hand down a small horse's smooth fiberglass face. Suddenly she stopped. Looked behind her. All was quiet, the restaurant not yet open. Her ponytail slapped away the trickle up her spine.

Half-heartedly she attempted to catch up with Aaron, striding out of the restaurant and down the hallway to her right. Then she saw a door left open, presumably for housekeeping. She paused outside.

The room was elegant and glorious. She peered over her shoulder. The hallway was empty. She went in. "Hello? Is it okay if I look around?" No answer.

At the other side of the space, floor length lavender curtains were pulled back, showing a glass-paneled door to a wrought iron balcony. Covered in tiny circular glass panels, the door seemed to glitter and Christine drifted towards it. Her uncertain fingers lifted. Then she realized it was merely the buildings, shimmering with heat, hunched in the distance. _Money can't make everything into jewels._ She turned around contemplatively. A large four-poster bed, canopy parted at one side, sat in the corner. Christine ran her fingers down one of its smooth oak posts longingly.

To her right was a mirrored door and Christine slowly pushed it open. She entered in a sitting room, another chandelier hanging at its center, old-fashioned looking fireplace at the far end. Everything was so detailed—the furniture old-looking but new, the wallpaper, the gas lamp sconces on the walls. Christine felt a hunger to live years ago, or have enough money to live like it was years ago now.

She sighed wistfully and made her way out. At the main doorway, she tipped her chin over her shoulder, searching for the warmth in discovery she'd felt last night, but it was gone.

"Breaking and entering now, are we?"

Christine gasped and jumped and whirled around. She put one hand over her throat. Erik smiled warmly, but there was something fragile at the back of his eyes.

"Ohh," she exhaled. "Hi. You startled me." Watched the carpet.

Erik's feet slipped by her and across the room.

"This isn't… _your_ room, is it?" Christine looked up tentatively.

"No," Erik replied, and pulled open the door to the balcony and slipped out.

_What?_

She watched Erik's back as he leaned against the balustrade, dress jacket stretched over his broad but slim shoulders. With a sudden shuddery breath, she went to the balcony and stood beside him but not too close.

HIs profile was blank. Visible eyebrow lowered. Voices and cars sounded from the street two stories down.

"Don't you have something to say?" Erik asked suddenly. The shell of his voice was nonchalant; Christine swallowed at the barb underneath.

She glanced to him. He looked over at her expectantly. She turned back to gaze at New Orleans.

"Why aren't you watching Raoul?" she asked suddenly.

"I could ask the same," he replied.

"How did you find me in here?"

"I missed you."

Christine bit the inside of her cheek. Stared down at the metal railing. Something tried to grasp her, long, wispy fingers curling about the glass door, but the mist of its form evaporated in the heat.

"It's too hot," she said, and turned around and pushed open the glass door.

Erik followed her and his fingers hooked and caught around her hanging limp ones. She faced him.

"Don't—We can't stay in here."

"So?" Erik's voice was matter-of-fact.

_Why did you lie to me._

_Why am I so disappointed by it…?_

_Just… I thought you_ _and Dr. Kelly were agreeing I was smart enough to do more than my baby project shit. I thought you wanted to help me because I was worth it, because I was smart enough to do real engineering things, not mix the same solution all day long… _

_But it was all about you instead._

_Christine, don't be selfish… _

_Oh, but I'm so disappointed. I thought people here finally found me worthwhile, not a burden or an idiot compared to them. _

_And really you were just too shy to ask me out._

_What if this is all there is? Mixing solutions really is what most engineers do, while only a select few get to take strides and help people and make a difference…?_

_Maybe it's not true. Maybe it's not._

_If no one thinks you're smart and capable and useful, how do you know you are?_ Christine swallowed and closed her eyelids hard.

"You're avoiding me."

She opened her eyes. "You've been gone for two weeks."

"Christine…"

"What?" she snapped, jerked her eyes up to his. "What?"

Erik seemed to flinch beneath his skin. _Be cautious,_ her father whispered, so quiet all it did was raise the hair on her arms. She mistook it for a breeze.

"I thought—You spent the night with me."

In the face of his dishonest manipulation of her attention, his honest clinging seemed to drag her down all the more. Christine felt she'd been blind. She wanted to shake and kick him off until she was free of his secret quicksand.

"Erik," she said with carefully controlled anger, "I don't know what you want from me. I'm _leaving._ This isn't some—" she bit her tongue and tried to tell a white lie. "I don't want to get too attached."

"Don't fucking patronize me," Erik spat. "We both know _you're_ not worried."

"Then don't exaggerate," Christine bit.

"I never have," he said coldly. "I mean everything I say. You have no idea what you're talking about."

Christine closed her eyes. _Why are you bothering?_ In the middle of her anger, her humiliation and confusion still clouded. "Fine," she shrugged tightly. "Yeah. Right. Well. I'm hungry and I'm done arguing over nothing with you."

"Oh my God," Erik muttered under his breath. "_Nothing?!"_

Christine's spine stiffened. She walked out on feet that felt bound. Quickly, then down the hallway, then she let her hands shake, her stomach began to quiver in her ribs, and she strode faster, silence on the heavy carpet, fleeing from her expectation of Erik's pursuit. But he did nothing; the silence was choking; her fear only fluttered and grew in her throat, every moment expecting him; and she suspected it would have been a relief had he actually followed.

Then the cavern of her brain clasped a thought within its folds and alarm traced her spine.

_I thought you didn't care enough to be this upset._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Raoul never said anything to Christine; when Aaron and Megan greeted him after his presentation she hung back, but at the apparent ease between the three she stepped forward and it was like nothing had ever happened. Maybe it should have seemed strange, but Christine had experienced this dynamic before and simply felt another curdle of disappointment.

It was the mark of something ugly, she thought disdainfully, when people ignored suffering to maintain false peace.

Either Raoul was the problem, and bringing up his accusation would only cause more trouble; or Megan and Aaron were, and were both more willing to endure Christine's suffering than the awkwardness engendered by confrontation.

Raoul turned to talk to an older man and Christine felt Megan's arm slip about her shoulders and pull her closer. Her eyes knew. Christine wished she had a sister. She realized the former explanation was the correct one; awkwardly leaned her head against Megan's shoulder.

I_ could do it,_ she thought sleepily, _Confront Raoul myself and find out what the hell._ But she realized too that only Erik could answer what she really wanted to know, and therefore it wasn't worth it to her, either.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

On that Saturday evening, Christine was grateful to return to her empty apartment. She biked to the grocery and got supplies for stir-fry and a bag of Hershey's chocolate. _Perfect._

She was waiting in line and scrolling through emails on her phone when someone nudged her.

"Honey. That your T.P.?"

Her package of toilet paper had fallen out of her cart somehow and was sitting on the ground at the back of the line. "Oh! Yes, thank you, I really need that." Christine blushed slightly. Went to retrieve it. When she returned, she squinted surreptitiously at the lady who'd spoken to her. She was short and plump and blonde. "Don't you work at the research center…?"

"Yes I do!" the lady exclaimed. "I remember you! Christine, isn't it?"

"Yeah!" Christine smiled warmly. "Antoinette… right?"

"Yes ma'am," Antoinette started unloading her things on the conveyer belt as the attendant began scanning Christine's. "You never did tell me what you're workin' on, girl."

"Oh, I'm in Dr. Kelly's lab. I'm an intern."

"Are you," Antoinette looked up interestedly. "Most of the other ones are at the main campus in Baton Rouge. What're you doin' out here?"

"Um…" Christine was at a loss on that one. "I don't know, really." She laughed.

"Well. Lafayette's better anyway. You must know my daughter Meg."

"Oh! Yeah, I just went to New Orleans with her."

Antoinette seemed to frown, but it was so brief, and Christine looked away to tell the attendant how many bagels were in her paper bag, and when she looked back Antoinette had the alert, sparking look in her eyes that seemed constant.

"And did you enjoy N'Awlins?"

"Yer-rss…" Christine swiped her debit card and didn't look up. "It was very interesting to be there." She didn't see how intensely Antoinette watched her.

"And I suppose you must know Erik Troucheau, then?"

"Oh," Christine's head twitched, then more cautiously turned, but Antoinette seemed to be searching through her purse. "Yeah." She began combining things in the paper bags in her cart, lingering at the back of the register.

"He can be a difficult man."

Christine was so conflicted and bottled up that she didn't consider what an odd statement this was. "Yes! He can! But Megan said he was an old friend of your family, you must be used to it?"

"Ohh," Antoinette seemed to sigh. "No. Not particularly." She glanced over as Christine pulled her helmet from her backpack. "Dear! It's going to rain, if you're gonna bike you better get a move on."

Christine shifted reluctantly. _Not really to which? Being an old friend or used to it? _"Mm… Yeah. Well, it was good seeing you." She smiled.

"Same to you, honey. You just drop by my office in Middleton Hall whenever. If… If you need to." Her face looked serious suddenly, blue eyes sharp.

Christine nodded slowly, thoughtful, then smiled and waved and whirled out. _Okay._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

She dreamt she was on the edge of a castle, a parapet; she was anxious and waiting, but pretending not to be. She stuck her arms out like wings and felt the wind sigh between her fingers.

And then she was on a grassy plateau somewhere else and there were ruins of a castle about her, beautiful and lingering and soft. Erik came toward her from the side, across the plateau, and she watched him from the corner of her eye but didn't turn toward him, still waiting, still uncertain, afraid of the infliction of pain. Then he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to his chest and Christine clutched his wrists as they crossed her waist.

It felt so real; he felt so close; she half-awoke and thought, _That's what he would do. That's exactly what. He's real._

He cradled her to him and she felt so safe and warm and happy, snuggled in her sheet sleeping bag.

"I always want you," he said.

"Don't," she said.

He kissed her and the warmth was so comfortable and perfect but he pulled back and his mask was gone and the other half of his face was a skull, its bone holey and pitching and covered in bumps, growths like cauliflower, and the only live thing was his yellow eye, bulging and angry in its repulsiveness and watching from the dark eye socket. The mask was on the other side.

Christine was petrified and frozen. Her fingers still clasped his arms as terror reared.

He leaned in and spoke. "You don't know me, either." She knew he meant her prejudice of his love.

And it was so exactly something she expected him to say that the warmth returned and his face returned to how it always was and she kissed him with longing comfort—longing because she wanted to be simply at ease forever and comfort because the mind cannot recall pain and the real recollection of Erik's kisses caused too much sorrow for her sleeping memory.

Something got through, though, because tears leaked cold in her sleep.

* * *

><p><em>Please leave your thoughts, my loves!<em>


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